


Brainwashed || Battle Cry

by Fanfic_Fanatic13



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Cybertronian Torture, Emotional Abuse, Energon, Gen, Human Torture, Mental Abuse, Mental Torture, PTSD, Physical Abuse, Physical Torture, Psychological Torture, Violence, War, depictions of blood, depictions of gore, emotional torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfic_Fanatic13/pseuds/Fanfic_Fanatic13
Summary: Captured and held prisoner aboard the very ship they had saved, Ratchet and Jack must work together to resist the torture inflicted upon them by the Decepticons. As the Autobots work to get their friends back, Megatron begins to utilize twisted tactics and sick mind games in order to break their wills. If there is one thing the warlord is, it is persistent; and he will have his victory.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	1. Behold Me

**Author's Note:**

> Jack stays behind to retrieve the data stick containing the Iacon database . . . and nothing goes as it should.

**Before we begin . . .**

**A/N: This is a two-part work. _BRAINWASHED_ is the first book, and _BATTLE CRY_ is the sequel. I took inspiration from an author named L.J. Smith, who wrote "A Forbidden Game" and other books. These books were technically "three" mini-books combined into one, and I wanted to try my hand at it to see if it was a better fit than just writing two separate books - therefore, making it easy to read the whole thing at once. Overall I have received a fairly neutral reception on this style, as people were more generally focused on the content than how it was presented.**

**CREDITS:**

**At the time of publishing on Wattpad, this work was heavily inspired by Misgel's "Darkness" works (Darkness of the Soul and Darkness of the Heart). With this being said I am not attempting an _imitation,_ or writing my "take" on her original plot. Because I am a horrible human being (well, only a little bit) I greatly enjoy both Jack and Ratchet angst, and as such wanted to write a work which did both.**

**In addition, Bumblemus_Prime and Arya_Skye also have published works that have very similar ideas to what I've written here. When writing this I was honestly debating whether to continue this work and its direction when I saw them and realized the similarities, because I honestly don't want to be "that writer" that seems like she's ripping off other people to try and make a fanfiction. That is sincerely not my intent. I've written this work independently from all three fanfic writers, yet I still want to give credit where credit is due.**

**There are some ideas of from these authors that I really liked and wanted to incorporate into this work. With these ideas I opted to use their core, however when it came to how they were incorporated into the story I ensured to take a different route and have various explanations for why such phenomena were important to the overall plot. These are as follows:**

**1.) Dark Energon poisoning/utilization - Bumblemus_Prime was actually the first user I came across who used this theme (Without a Word), and Misgel also utilizes the properties of Dark Energon in her works. Primarily, that those infected survive, and perhaps even thrive. This makes sense to me, because though Prime has instances of some Cybertronians having issues with the substance (Arcee, Bulkhead), there are others who seem unbothered by it or enhanced with its abilities (Megatron, Bumblebee, Starscream).**

**2.) Mass Displacement - Misgel also used this as a plot point and I really, really wanted to use it as well. It was such a clever idea and I wanted to expand upon it with my own interpretations on how it worked. I also do this in The Bargain (shameless plug), which goes to show how much I _love_ this idea and all the nefarious trouble which one can get into with it.**

**3.) The Ending - I can't give too many things away here, because, well, spoilers, but Arya_Skye has a book that _starts_ with the _ending_ I settled on for the first half of this work, Brainwashed (I've Forgotten You). Her book was actually what convinced me to end Brainwashed the way I did, then go into Battle Cry.**

**4.) The Plot - Books centered around torture and torment are nothing new, however Bumblemus_Prime did write a whole mini-series (which is currently still in the works at the time of this publishing) which centers around Optimus Prime as the poor victim (Rules of War, War Without End). I do not show any mercy to the poor Prime, but he is a secondary character in this fic.**

**So far, that is it for inspirations for the work. I wanted to make sure I was straightforward with you guys and not wanting to come off as using these authors but not crediting them. They are the inspirations behind this work. Thank you all so much!**

**BEHOLD ME**

**⬵⤁**

**_"It is divided into four basic stages:  
Demoralization. Destabilization. Crises. Normalization."_ **

**⬵⤁**

Though relief crashed into his body the moment the Groundbridge roared to life, Jack felt a weight of insufficiency settle in his stomach. Turning his head he gazed up at the communications hub, his eyes trailing from the prone Knock Out to the data drive still stuck in its port. All that had been downloaded was four sets of coordinates - Rafael had mentioned the Iacon file was most likely _huge_ \- but to leave the Autobots with nothing was worse than a little something.

“Take Fowler and go,” he instructed the two younger humans, striding toward Knock Out with purpose. “Something is better than nothing - I’m not leaving without that data drive.”

Miko turned her head to see the junior scaling the Decepticon medic, her suggestion dying on her tongue. It would be easier, and safer, to just take a picture. The girl had her phone on her almost 24/7, save for the one time they were trapped in the Shadowzone, but even then Jack had whipped out his own cellular device. Taking a moment to pause and snap a good shot of the screen would take only have the time it would for Jack to scale Knock Out, grab the drive, and hop back down. But by the time she thought of such a thing he was already halfway up to the hub, so instead she hoisted Fowler’s arm over her shoulder and with the help of Raf carried the semi-conscious agent back to base.

The Cybertronian race had plenty of handholds thanks to their sophisticated armor plating, though the protective shell proved to be slick and even sharp around some particular edges. Jack did not waste precious time trying not to cut his hands, instead focusing on hoisting himself onto the sleek keyboard, mindful of the array of buttons he could hit on his way over to the data drive. Rafael had managed to put it in with ease, so it would only make sense that the older teen could pull it out.

Gripping the sides with both hands he pulled, a few choice words coming to mind when the alien USB drive refused to move. Readjusting his grip he tried again, nervous sweat making it nearly impossible for him to grasp the streamline edges.

Intuition pulled at the back of his mind, chills going down his spine as something alerted him to a problem he could not yet see. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye he turned, eyes widening when he realized he somehow _missed_ the bright red Aston Martin waking from stasis. Knock Out greeted him with a grin, raising his servo and exchanging it for the surgical drill his frame was equipped with. Jack fell on his butt in his mad dash to escape the psychotic medic’s corkscrew weapon, scrambling back until his spine hit the LED screen full of alien text. 

“Say _ah,”_ Knock Out jeered, bringing his drill closer until the tip nearly brushed Jack’s chin. The human opened his mouth to do . . . _something,_ be it scream or beg for his life, when another voice interrupted him.

“I’m here to give a second opinion!”

Knock Out turned to see just who interrupted him, his surprised alabaster face met with the unforgiving fist of a ‘bot who had seen it all. Jack yelped, jerking his feet back to avoid being crushed by Knock Out’s careening body. The stunned Decepticon crashed to the floor, Ratchet carefully picking up Jack first before easily unplugging the data drive from its port. The medic’s plating bristled when his audio receptors picked up the sound of an oncoming jet, quickly turning back toward the Groundbridge to escape the oncoming destruction heading their way.

Jack heard the sound of transformation before his world started suddenly careening, the human unable to help but scream this time as metal hit metal deafeningly. Ratchet drew the human close to his chassis for protection, going down hard and nearly dropping both Jack and the data drive. He grunted in intense pain, Megatron landing between them and the Groundbridge with a final _slam._ Jack almost expected cracks to appear beneath his feet, but then remembered the warlord had touched down on Cybertronian metal. It was not nearly as fragile as dirt.

_“Take another step, medic, and it will be your last; along with your human pet.”_

Jack had rarely heard the Cybertronian dialect in its raw form, Ratchet occasionally swearing in it and the Autobots speaking it only amongst themselves. It had never occurred to him why they _wouldn’t_ speak English, though he supposed they did it for the kids’ benefit and Agent Fowler’s. The Decepticons, contrarily, had no humans to speak to and probably despised the “primitive” language.

Megatron sounded even more intimidating as he spat and growled the individual syllables, though Jack was unsure if it was because he could not understand the tyrant or if Megatron truly was menacing in his foreign tongue. Ratchet did not seem the least bit intimidated, instead curling his digits tighter around the human as he stood back up to his full height. His EM field pulled tight, Ratchet glared up at Megatron.

“If you have any sense left in that space-sick head of yours,” he spat back in English, probably just being difficult, “you would let us go. We just saved your _entire_ ship from an eternal sleep, I believe a _thank you_ is in order and we will be on our way.”

“I will demonstrate my gratitude by allowing you to live while standing on my ship,” Megatron replied harshly, his voice grating against Jack’s ears. “And not invade your pathetic base while its doors are still open to me.”

Ratchet was no fool - Megatron knew the moment he stepped through that bridge he was good as dead. Though an admirable fighter he was at a disadvantage while in a small space; Arcee, Bumblebee, and Optimus most certainly had the advantage, and if Bulkhead could pin the brute it would be all over for him. Megatron did not refrain from a full on invasion because of a mercy, he did it because he wasn’t _stupid._

Nevertheless, Rafael should have closed the bridge by now. He knew the boy was most likely pleading for Ratchet to come back with Jack, but every second that Groundbridge stayed open the more likely a Decepticon would walk through. Ratchet needed to somehow signal that they were not coming back. His servo tightened around Jack ever so slightly.

“Let Jack return to base,” he implored, “you can have the drive, you can have _me,_ but keep the human out of this. This isn’t his fight.”

“On the contrary,” Megatron sneered. “You allowed this _human_ to venture on Cybertron to rescue Orion Pax. You allow him - and the others I’m sure - to accompany you on your little Autobot excursions. This _fight_ is his as much as it is yours, Ratchet.”

The medic felt his processor lag ever so slightly, trying to come up with another plan. Throwing Jack was out of the question, as he would be lucky to not only survive hitting the ground, but also make it through the entire Groundbridge and into the base. Humans did not _skid,_ nor were they forgiving creatures in terms of injuries. Sound also did not travel through the Groundbridge, as the vortex actually had a near-vacuum on either end that absorbed sounds attempting to go in, or out. His opposable digit stroked the data drive. There was only one solution, and he had to make it count.

The movement drew Megatron’s optics to the object, his lip plates parting to reveal his sharp denta. 

“Though if you give me the data drive, I _may_ consider allowing him to live a torment-less life,” he extended his clawed, predatory servo. “In exchange for the sensitive information you possess.”

Ratchet gazed at the servo, which was big enough to encapsulate the better half of his helm and rip it clean off his shoulders. There was no guarantee, as Megatron went back on his word more times than he kept it, and Ratchet was not about to take that risk. If Jack was staying on this Primus-forsaken warship regardless, with no guarantee that he was going to be spared from the sadism, then Ratchet knew what choice he had to make.

Jack’s only warning that the medic was going to act was the sudden pressure around his ribs, yelping in surprise as he was tossed in the air.

Megatron acted with predictable surprise, the Decepticon jerking back just the tiniest bit and giving Ratchet the opening he needed. The ambidextrous Autobot threw the data drive past the warlord’s helm, taking only a second to watch it soar and successfully make it into the Groundbridge before he reached back out for the screaming human. He saw Megatron’s fist as it reacted to his movement, his digits closing around Jack’s body just as he was hit for the second time. He managed to keep a hold of the boy, drawing him against his chest for protection as he hit the ground.

His plan succeeded, the Groundbridge closing just as Megatron spun on his heel with a mad plan to dive in and intercept the exchange. Bellowing in rage he turned his angry wrath on Ratchet, fully intended to tear him apart. He paused when Knock Out’s startled EM field brushed against his own, the medic quickly correcting his mistake and pulling it in tight. His bristled plating relaxed slowly, the hesitation giving him some time to consider other possibilities aside from ending Ratchet’s life. He watched the medic unfurl his digits around the panting, and clearly distraught, human, surprised when cerulean optics gave the organic a brief assessment. 

Ratchet would rather perform self-surgery than ever admit it, but he and Megatron shared striking similarities. Their pride, for one thing, was nearly unrivaled by any other living creatures. And though Orion Pax was one of the masterminds behind the Revolution, Ratchet shared the same passion as Megatronus for change. They were both sick and tired of the tragedies of Cybertron, naive Pax only having an inkling of what the gladiator and medic experienced in their day to day lives.

So it was interesting to see that the medic did not show the same disdain for human kind that Megatron felt. Though perhaps that was where they differed; Ratchet had the spark of an Autobot, a true medic that helped even the weakest of creatures. He would have made a fine Decepticon, had he set aside his friendship for Orion and his compassion.

Perhaps he could use the organic to his advantage. Of course, a cortical psychic patch was the easiest way to pry the information he wanted out of Ratchet’s stubborn helm, but the process would go much more smoothly with a litte . . . _motivation._

_“Knock Out,”_ he said sharply, switching back to his native tongue. _“Have our prisoners escorted to a holding cell to await interrogation. Optimus Prime now possesses the same four coordinates; we cannot allow the Autobots to obtain any of the relics! Report to me the_ moment _you have them secured.”_

_“Prison-_ ers, _my liege?”_ Knock Out asked nervously, not one to question his lord but ensuring he heard correctly. _“Even the human?”_

_“He will be kept as insurance that dear Ratchet behaves,”_ Megatron answered, pointing at them and snapping. _“Do not delay!”_

His master’s patience wearing thin Knock Out immediately jumped to it, striding over to Ratchet while pinging Soundwave a request for a few Vehicon drones. He put his servos on his hips, glaring down at the medic.

_“Chop chop,”_ He said with equal impatience, knowing that the longer Ratchet took to get going the harder Megatron’s hit was going to be. _“I don’t have all day for you to get your rusted stabilizers moving. You heard the mech - let’s go!”_

Ratchet stood up, keeping Jack tucked close to him. The human was tall enough that his legs dangled and his arms were free as Ratchet held him, though he no longer felt secure in the old ‘bot’s grip. Despite his occasional joyride on a rollercoaster, the teen did _not_ appreciate being thrown around without warning.

“Where are we going?” He asked, his question directed at Ratchet. “What is going to happen to us?”

“Nothing yet, fleshy,” Knock Out answered him, waving a dismissive servo. Three Vehicons reported to the scene, their weapons drawn and aimed at Ratchet. Even if he survived the encounter, Jack ran the risk of getting hit with the weaponized energon. “As for where you are going, I believe you humans call it the _five-star hotel.”_

“They are putting us in a holding cell until Megatron decides on what to do with us,” Ratchet reported, ever the optimistic one.

“Great,” Jack grumbled. “Perfect, just how I wanted to spend my day. At the Decepticon spa and resort.”

Knock Out turned to the Vehicons. _“Get them to their cell. Lord Megatron wants it completely secured until he is ready to interrogate them.”_

_“Yes sir,”_ One of the soldiers replied, the trio nodding before they began their march to the bastille of the _Nemesis._ Ratchet kept a firm hold on Jack, ensuring he wasn’t going to slip or otherwise be exposed to the Decepticons. They were in deep scrap, but that did not mean Ratchet would not protect the human with every fiber in his body. Jack was only a child, though perhaps in human terms he was a young man. Regardless, that did not give Megatron any excuse to expose him to the ferocity of war. Not if Ratchet could help it.


	2. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in a cell together, Ratchet tells Jack what to expect as a Decepticon prisoner of war, and reminisces about the past.

**REMEMBER ME**

****⬵⤁** **

**_"The villains and the heroes are merging,  
Everything is blurry,"_ **

**_**⬵⤁** _ **

“Ratchet, truly, I’m fine,” Jack protested, but relented with a huff as he was forced to turn. The _whirs_ and _clicks_ of Ratchet’s optics zooming into focus were the only sounds made for a few breaths, the medic taking several quick bio-scans to ensure all was well. Unsurprisingly, Jack’s fragile surface capillaries had burst in several places, resulting in multiple contusions due to trauma. There were some places that matched up a little too perfectly with the location of digit joints, Ratchet cringing with guilt. It appeared that the medic had squeezed a little too hard at least once or twice.

“I need to ensure everything is in working order,” he answered Jack once his scans were complete, finally leaning back and silently signaling that it was alright for the human to drop his shirt back into place. “You would not be the first patient to brush off a major injury or concern.”

“Am I the first that you _threw_ in the air?” Jack asked, unable to mask some of the bitterness in his voice. There had been a few times the human had become airborne, but each time was by accident - not because an Autobot intentionally sent him flying.

The older ‘bot sighed, the rush of air accompanied by the quiet _whoosh_ of his pistons shifting. “The situation called for . . . seemingly drastic measures,” he explained, “Megatron was not going to let you go, and throwing _you_ through the Groundbridge was completely out of the question; I could almost guarantee you would not survive. As for throwing you into the air, I needed a distraction, and it worked. I would not have done it had I thought there to be another option, Jack.”

His logic was sound and the human knew it, though he could not completely shake the feeling of betrayal. The Autobots swore to keep their human charges out of danger, not to take risks with their lives. But, with a choice between getting Jack killed or _almost_ killed, he grudgingly admitted the latter was the better option. And Ratchet had paid for the deception dearly, though he was quick to brush off any concerns about his own well-being. Apparently Megatron’s punches _looked_ more painful than they felt.

“So . . . what now?” Jack asked, standing on Ratchet’s servo. “We just _wait_ for Megatron or one of the other Decepticons to come back and start coming up with ways to make us talk?”

“Make _me_ talk,” Ratchet looked down at him. “You are only here as insurance that I do so. I’m not sure what methods he intends to use, but knowing the lord of the Decepticons it could be many things. And with Starscream gone rogue, I am sure it will be a much more _personalized_ experience.”

“Starscream was in charge of interrogations?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“If only because he could keep the prisoners alive longer than Megatron ever has.”

_Oh._

Jack grit his teeth. “Ratchet, the Autobots _need_ you. No matter what happens, you have to - “

“No, Jack. No matter what happens, _you_ will not say anything,” Ratchet’s voice became steely, almost seeming to glare at the young man. “Megatron will try to manipulate you, twist you into either giving in or leading to my own demise. He already has his foot in the door, and he will continue to pry it open if you allow him. The Autobots may rely on me as their medic, but that does not mean they are incapable of taking care of themselves. Your safety is my prerogative, and that means keeping the others safe as well - regardless of what happens to me.”

His throat was beginning to dry. Ratchet was so certain Megatron would target him, and him alone, but he had not been there when Jack, Miko, Raf, and the other Autobots set out to rescue Agent Fowler. Starscream had discovered a method of torture that preserved the fragile humans - an energon shock prod - long enough to begin to pry information out of them. It would come as no surprise if Starscream had shared this approach with either Megatron directly or in the _Nemesis_ databanks for future use.

What would Ratchet do _then?_

“No matter what, we’re in this scrap heap together,” Jack pointed out. “So why don’t we both promise each other to not say anything?”

“Easier said than done, should Megatron opt to use the cortical psychic patch,” if Ratchet had a nose it would have wrinkled, “but given he has a . . . particular aversion to anything related to memory-work I would not put it past him to use it as a last resort.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Megatron was _afraid_ of something? “What does the leader of the Decepticons have against a patch?” He asked. It was bizarre to think there was anything other than death - or losing to Optimus Prime - that made the warlord think twice.

“Not so much a cortical psychic patch as _mnemosurgery,”_ Ratchet glanced down and saw the young man’s confused look. “Direct memory manipulation. The only equivalent I can really think of is your human neurosurgeons, but the procedure leaves minimal scars and the equipment allows for direct access to a Cybertronian’s memory banks. Once there, the surgeon can then either observe passively, delete memories, or create new ones.”

The human shuddered violently. “That’s . . . terrifying.” He admitted.

“Indeed. I have seen only a handful of procedures in my life, and after seeing many of them go wrong I have lost my taste for the practice,” the medic agreed. “I suspect Megatron had Shockwave develop the cortical psychic patch in order to have a minimally invasive form of mnemosurgery.”

“Yeah, but . . . why?” Jack realized Ratchet had avoided the question somewhat. “Why not just . . . do things the old-fashioned way?”

“Because many ‘bots knew how to not break under interrogation,” Ratchet answered morbidly. “And because Megatron does not want his own memory circuits to be tampered - as mnemosurgery can go both ways if the surgeon is not careful. From what I understand, the Cybertronian Senate attempted to Shadowplay him while he was still a miner. The trauma has remained - “

“Sorry, but, Shadowplay?” Jack interrupted.

Ratchet shot him an annoyed look, but sighed when he realized the human could not possibly know what that meant.

“It is a form of mnemosurgery that was used to . . . alter the personalities of those the Senate considered enemies,” the medic shuttered his optics. “They called it ‘personality adjustment,’ but truthfully it was to silence any opposing voices against the Functionalist society we lived in. Megatron was one of many who fought against the caste system and the Functionalist ideals, and he was one of few that did not become silenced.”

Jack stared at the Cybertronian, the horror of the implications of such a procedure dawning on him. Governments, he was well aware, were always participating in morally questionable operations, but for some reason the idea that _Cybertronians_ could be as sick and twisted as even the worst of humans did not settle right with him. It was not that he was unaware that evil existed - Megatron was an ever recurring presence after all - it was the fact there was darkness present even before the war that was unnerving. 

Humans, he could understand, were evil creatures. They fought wars all the time, and in all of recorded history only _maybe_ a total of 100 years of peace persisted. Every other time someone was fighting someone else. But Cybertronians . . . from what he could tell of their history, they were at peace long before Megatron rose up and attempted his violent takeover. To think they participated in such vile acts was gut-wrenching.

“Was that what was so bad about Cybertron, why Optimus and Megatron tried to change it?” He asked.

Ratchet looked down at him, his lip plates thinning ever so slightly. He often forgot just how truly young Jack was - he had just recently turned seventeen - and how little he knew of Cybertronian history. Ratchet nor any of the other Autobots really thought to stop and tell them what was going on; it had always been “Decepticons must be stopped.” And even _how_ the war started was glossed over, as Ratchet had been in a bit of a rush to tell his story and then monitor the Autobot frequency for when they were ready for pick-up.

“It . . . is a little more complicated than that,” he admitted. “To put it simply: in the functionalist society, you were _born_ with your function. Medics were medics, archivists were archivists, construction workers were construction workers. If you attempted anything else, you were punished. And on the rare occasion you seemingly _had_ no purpose . . . you were scrapped for spare parts.”

Jack gulped, his blue eyes wide. He did not realize just how much he had taken for granted the flexibility of his own country.

“For those born into the higher castes, they had a much more privileged life, and even a little leeway as to the types of functions they could perform. Those in the lower castes, well, I am sure you can imagine how horrid the conditions were. But society was much, much more complicated than that. It all had to do with how one was created, the frame type and model of the Cybertronian, the caste they were forged - born - into, or constructed for. Even the type of spark one had played a large role in how they were treated and placed.” Ratchet was on a roll now, and Jack was fascinated enough to remain quiet. “Medics - the good ones, anyways - were notorious for being ‘forged’ instead of ‘constructed.’ As such it was typical to find us in the higher castes. Miners, on the other hand, were ‘constructed,’ and thus considered lesser and placed in the lower caste. Exceptions were extraordinarily rare, but they were there.

“There had always been dissent amongst the lower caste, but as I mentioned before many were silenced. Even those amongst the higher caste were not entirely safe. Orion Pax was lucky, as he had many powerful friends. Megatron just happened to not only be the most liked gladiator in all of Kaon, but he had some accursed luck on his side. Together, they formed a powerful team that spoke out, but it was Megatron who gave their movement a name: the Decepticons.”

“Wait, I thought you said Optimus was _never_ a Decepticon?” Jack raised his eyebrow.

“And he wasn’t,” Ratchet replied sternly, “he never affiliated himself with that part of Megatron’s group. They were merely political allies, up until Megatron shared his ulterior motives with that of the Council, the one part of the Senate I can say for certain was not wholly corrupted. I’m sure we have Alpha Trion to thank for that.”

The teenager listened, finding everything fascinating but also attempting to wrap his head around it all. The Cybertronian society seemed so . . . _strict._ And boring. Miko would not have been impressed.

_Miko . . ._

He was painfully reminded of where they were.

The human sat on his guardian’s hand. “Did you know Megatron then too? Or only after he created the Decepticons?”

“I knew him through Orion Pax,” Ratched said, “and . . . quite frankly, I was so delusional I _liked_ him. He was certainly charming, and surprisingly educated for a ‘bot of his status. I suspect Orion had something to do with it; regardless - Megatron was one of few born with a brilliant mind, but in the wrong place. It wasn’t until his speech at the Council were his true colors revealed . . . and we all realized we had been played for fools.”

The medic fell silent as he thought, pulled into the past and recalling just what happened on Cybertron. Jack allowed for him to relive it, watching as his turquoise optics dimmed ever so slightly. Eventually Ratchet shook himself from his reverie, refocusing on the human in his hand.

“Orion was even more enchanted than I; for Megatronus was very much like him in that he saw unfairness, but where there was bloodlust he saw determination, and Megatronus’ violence was passion. He very much betrayed Orion Pax and I could never forgive him for it.” Ratchet felt his jaw become tight. “They were _amica endura,_ and Megatronus cast it aside as if it meant _nothing.”_

“Hold on, _amica endura?”_ Jack looked stunned. “Arcee told me about that . . . they were _married?”_

Ratchet stared at the human, shocked that he would dare say such a thing. It took a long time for him to process what the teen had said, and even longer for him to put together where the miscommunication occurred.

“No, no, no,” Ratchet sputtered, hurriedly correcting Jack’s mistake, “that is _conjunx endura, amica_ refers to ‘best friends.’ Now, an _amica_ pair could eventually take the next step and become _conjunx,_ but that depended on the societal norms a ‘bot was brought up in. Most believed it could not happen _._ But that is a whole other story.”

Jack nodded, realizing why Ratchet would have been so horrified. He just implied that Optimus and Megatron had been, at one point, _in love._

 _That_ was weird to think about.

“Okay, I get it now,” he scratched the back of his head. _Whew, that was awkward._ “So, Orion and Megatronus were best friends, and now they’re not. Got it.” He looked up at Ratchet. “So . . . were you and Orion _amica endura?_ I mean, it kind of feels like you are now -”

“No.”

Jack stopped, stunned again. He looked up to see Ratchet was not looking at him, the medic instead focusing on a point on the wall. There was a painful silence to be had until the Autobot decided to speak again, taking a deep vent before he began. “When a Cybertronian decides to become _amica_ with another, they go through a ritual that leaves them intensely vulnerable; and rejection can wreak havoc on a spark,” Ratchet said. “Orion was wary - as he should have been - and that put a temporary strain on our relationship. Before we finally felt ready the war began, and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime. He swore off baring his spark to anyone, or allowing himself to form deeply-rooted attachments for the sake of himself, that who would be closest to him, and the Autobot cause.”

“Oh . . .” Jack felt terrible now, seeing Ratchet’s faceplates stiffen into a bitter expression and hearing his voice become fractured. “Ratchet, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he did not care to hide the snap. “The only one who should be saying _anything_ of that nature is Megatron, but I doubt he feels any remorse for what he has done. I have since gotten over it, and find that I too could not possibly juggle any sort of attachments with my work.”

Jack became quiet, knowing Ratchet was lying. It explained a lot, he felt; how Ratchet was so quick to demonize Megatron, or how he was unafraid to stand up to Optimus - but just as quick to back him up if need be. They could have been the Cybertronian equivalent of best friends, but Megatron had not only taken such a title for himself, he had stripped away any chance of Optimus forming any sort of healthy attachment ever again. 

It was cruel and unusual punishment.


	3. Await Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack struggles to come to terms with their situation, Megatron has to deal with the failure of his soldiers whilst also looking forward to his new prisoners, and Miko makes a vow she will not soon forget.

**AWAIT ME**

****⬵⤁** **

_**"Time is standing still,"** _

****⬵⤁** **

Though he was _never_ about to complain to Ratchet about their situation, Jack was admittedly _bored._ No one, not even a Vehicon, entered the cell to check their status or begin interrogations. Ratchet suggested that is was all likely due to the scramble for the four decoded coordinates, though he also would not put it past the leader of the Decepticons to allow them to stew for a while. Nothing was more satisfying than a prisoner almost _begging_ to be tortured, if only so they were freed from the stagnation of boredom.

Jack eventually had to get up and move about, scuffing his shoe against the smooth metal of their prison and looking around the cell. There was what appeared to be a ventilation shaft right in the center of the ceiling - right where the Decepticons would hang their prisoners - but he had no idea where it lead or if he and Ratchet had the combined dexterity to reach it. It seemed foolish to leave the medic uninhibited, but that could be part of "the plan," whatever that happened to be.

"We've got to find a way to escape," the human huffed impatiently. "That's the next best thing besides just _waiting_ here, right?"

"Even if we could, I have no doubts that Soundwave is watching our every move," Ratchet pointed out. "The _Nemesis_ is also not equipped to sustain human life; you may feel fine for now, but oxygen levels are only seventy-nine point six percent of what you are accustomed to at sea level. Exerting yourself would not be hard."

Jack crossed his arms. "I'm fairly certain I'd starve to death before I ever suffocated. I doubt the Decepticons have a bed and breakfast for organics."

The medic did not seem to find that funny. "If Megatron has any intentions of truly using you to extract the information he wants from me, he will meet any and all nutrition demands. I could, at the very least, use my medical expertise to talk _some_ sense into him."

"How would they get the food?" The idea of Soundwave at a self-checkout seemed funny, but Jack realized that would not be the case. Even Laserbeak was too large to just . . . _swoop_ in and take what it wanted. It was also impossible to think they would just ask nicely . . .

"Through their usual methods, I am sure," Ratchet replied bitterly. "Storming in, taking what they desire, and leaving with as many casualties as possible."

"I am _not_ avoiding starvation in exchange for innocent lives," the human declared, feeling his hands clench against his crossed arms. "Surely Buckethead knows that."

"Megatron doesn't _care,"_ Ratchet snapped a little, the medic revealing he was nearly as restless as his human counterpart. He had at least half a million things on his processor, each more worrisome than the last, and the added stress was not helping him. "He does what he wants _regardless_ of what you think or believe. If you tell him such a thing, Jack, then he will _starve_ you until your human instincts prevent you from refusing food any longer. And who knows, maybe the blood of those innocent lives would be dripping from his claws while he did it."

"Didn't need the visual, thanks," Jack snapped back. "Look, we can agree on one thing: whatever is going to happen is going to hurt. We _have_ to do something, Ratchet."

The medic threw his arms out. "Like what?! Like break down the door and shoot our way out? Have you sneak along in the ventilation shafts until you're offlined or found like a mouse? Give Megatron all the information he wants without a fight?"

"I don't know!" Had he been a little less angry, Jack would have realized yelling at a robot that was four times taller than him, and thousands of pounds heavier, was stupid. "But I don't want to just sit here -"

"Have you _ever_ been in a hostage or prisoner situation, Jack? Because _I_ have!" Ratchet roared, nearly deafening the human. "And just 'sitting here' is much more preferable than the alternative, which is having the scrap tortured out of us! This isn't the first time I have had to sit in a Decepticon holding cell and wonder what Megatron is in the mood for today, and I doubt this will be the last."

The human watched as the Cybertronian let out a long ex-vent, his flared armor eventually relaxing. The echoing of the chamber and Ratchet's raised voice left Jack's ears ringing, as if he had been to one of Miko's concerts. He waited until the sensation stopped before he too took a breath.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, sitting down and placing his head in his hands.

Ratchet stared at him, the medic feeling some guilt worm into his spark. Jack had never been exposed to war - not like he had - and it was unfair to believe that the human would have any understanding of what it was like. The prideful Cybertronian looked away, gazing toward the cell door.

"I am too," he said, and allowed for gentle silence to settle.

****⬵⤁** **

" _We possess not only the Autobot's medic, but their human pet,"_ Megatron stalked before his inferiors, his red optics glowing with monstrous fire. " _Yet only Soundwave managed to retrieve a relic, and one other was lost to_ Starscream! _How is that possible?!"_

Dreadwing lowered his helm, allowing his gaze to drop to the metal floor. " _I have no excuses, my lord,"_ he replied. As frustrated as Megatron was, he did have to give credit to his humble first lieutenant.

" _And what do you have to say for yourself?"_ He snarled at the Insecticon. Despite putting faith in the supposedly "best warrior" of the hive, he could not be wholly surprised by the failure. Insecticons were worthless creatures, only good for brute strength. Hardshell had been _outsmarted,_ because of course he had been.

" _I too, bear no excuses, my lord,"_ he articulated proudly. " _But, I hope to satiate your rage with this: while the Tox-En was destroyed, so was the Autobot!"_

There was a pause.

" _Impossible,"_ Knock Out snapped. " _No one has been able to offline an Autobot in quite some time."_

" _That is because you did not have an Insecticon warrior to do the job,"_ Hardshell boasted, his mandibles chittering with offense.

"Really? _Because that bug I was partnered with was bested by two Autobot runts!"_

" _Enough!"_ Megatron's bark immediately silenced the quarreling Decepticons, their EM fields pulled tight and armor clamping down in instinctual response. " _Hardshell, are you able to confirm that the Autobot was successfully terminated?"_

" _Yes, my lord,"_ Hardshell's words were punctuated by the occasional gargle of energon, indicatory of his predatory excitement. " _I watched him perish with my own optics."_

The warlord regarded him for some time. This was extraordinarily good news - not only had the Autobots just lost their medic, but now one of their warriors as well. He suspected it was Bulkhead, given Knock Out's description of the "runts," Dreadwing's encounter with Optimus Prime, and Soundwave's grapple with Wheeljack. Their strongest ally was now offlined, and leaving only three - four if Wheeljack was to be included - Autobots left on Earth.

" _Then perhaps this day is not wholly lost,"_ Megatron clasped his servos behind his back. " _Soundwave, return to decoding the remainder of the Iacon relics. The rest of you are dismissed . . . for now."_

The Decepticons bowed in unison to their lord before departing, Soundwave the only one to remain on the bridge. Megatron returned to gazing at all the reports which filtered in constantly on the _Nemesis,_ but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Ratchet would be utterly distraught to know that a team member was severely - _fatally_ \- injured, and he had not been there to assist. Of course, having footage of the decimation would have proven most useful, as the word of a Decepticon was to never be trusted, but if he could plant even the smallest of seeds of doubt in his processor his work would be done.

And of course, there was always the _human_ factor involved. It would be foolish to think that the human could be adequately tortured without the constant need to be hospitalized or the ever-looming potential for death. But he was clever, and already had a few plans for what he could do.

" _Soundwave,"_ he ordered, his rumbling voice carrying across the bridge effortlessly. " _Show me the live feed of our prisoners."_

The communications officer obliged, soon Megatron's screen filled with a pale-blue glow, interrupted by bright white and orange coloring. The medic was sitting on the floor, his optics focused solely on the closed door. Next to him was the organic, curled up with his head resting on his arm. Though Megatron was ignorant to human behaviors, he was intelligent enough to guess that Jack was currently in recharge. It would make sense - his internal clock confirmed that it had been approximately twelve hours since their capture, and humans typically lived by a twelve to seventeen hour day. Amusing, really, since Cybertronians could, if they so desired, go almost an entire Earth week without recharge. Even then a good cycle only lasted approximately six of their hours - plenty of time to rest their systems, purge corrupted files, and have their frame go through an entire self-clean process.

He had expected more activity, but decided it was due to low levels of energon, and the amount of time currently passed.

The methods of torture he preferred were most predictable, but he found it gave the most results. Normally, energon starvation weeded out the ones who were easy to snap. But if they could resist, then he knew he would have to resort to more extreme methods to get what he wanted. Ratchet, he was already aware, would resist until the day he offlined. A cortical psychic patch was the way to go, despite the _unpleasant_ sensations a patch gave him, however the human brought an interesting variable into the mix. It would be intriguing to know if the same methods of torture - minus of course, the incompatible psychic patch - would make him break. Surely the weak creature would succumb to the need for food just like any other lowly Cybertronian.

Or, perhaps, the medic would not allow the organic to starve, and give up information in exchange for the well-being of his companion.

Megatron grinned. He could not wait to put such things to the test.

****⬵⤁** **

Miko felt defeated. Her best friend - well, one of them anyways - had been kidnapped and taken hostage by Decepticons, and they had yet to receive any call or update on his condition. Surely Megatron would have demanded a ransom, like one of the relics, in return for Jack's life. But with each passing minute the prospect seemed less and less likely.

Then, there was Bulkhead.

She had been excited to tell him all about the showdown between Doc Knock, the Insecticon, and the new cool relic they had found. Instead the young girl was greeted by the sight of Optimus Prime giving CPR to her guardian and friend, Arcee having to hold her back before she tried to do something stupid.

She would have been fascinated by the aspect of Cybertronian CPR and the way their AEDs worked if it hadn't been _Bulkhead_ on the ground, unresponsive to any kind of stimulation for far too long. It was terrifying, and shortly after they were able to stabilize him in the medical bay she was on his chassis, silently begging him to wake up. Already Jack was gone . . . she couldn't lose him too.

She gave no indication that she heard Arcee talking to Optimus in the background, the distressed two-wheeler attempting to figure out their options.

"- and not only that, but now Megatron has both Ratchet _and_ Jack," Arcee thrust her arm out as if gesturing to the Decepticons to punctuate her point. "The one person who may be able to make Bulkhead better, and my partner. If we don't come up with something, they both could be feeling his wrath."

"Arcee," the great Autobot spoke quietly. "I understand what you are saying, and what you are feeling. But we have managed to stabilize Bulkhead, and will continue to do so for the time being. And as for Jack . . . while I wish to believe Megatron will spare him, I know Ratchet will do everything in his power to ensure he is not harmed by the Decepticons. Just as you would in a similar situation."

"So you're saying we shouldn't be _trying_ to contact Megatron? Or _trying_ to get our friends out of there?" Arcee did not care if she was speaking out of turn. They were down to three Autobots protecting planet Earth, and if Megatron waged any sort of assault they had no chance. He could destroy an entire city and get away with it, perhaps kill off the remaining members of Team Prime in the process.

And she could not lose another partner.

"Attempting an assault on the Decepticon warship would prove to be too dangerous," Optimus pointed out. "And because we have not received any sort of ransom or demands from Megatron means that he has yet to use our friends to his advantage. For now, Ratchet and Jack are safe. And I believe Ratchet would agree that we cannot allow for any more relics to fall into Decepticon hands - even if it does mean his safety."

"Would Jack agree?" Arcee asked angrily. "Or _any_ of the kids, for that matter? His life is on the line just as much as Ratchet's!"

Optimus paused, unable to mask the troubled look on his faceplates. Though he wanted to claim that he could not speak for humanity, he knew Arcee would not accept that answer. But Jackson had proved time and time again that he was willing to put the fate of humanity and Cybertronian life above his own, and even took the Key to Vector Sigma and downloaded the necessary contents to restore the Prime's memories. He was indebted to Jack, but knew the boy would never call upon such a debt; that was not in his nature.

"I do think that Jack would agree," he finally said, ignoring Arcee's look of surprise, and then anger. "Arcee, do not mistaken me for dismissing our friends. When the opportunity arises, we will indeed rescue them. But we must be cautious, as we are without our medic . . . and a warrior."

They both looked toward Bulkhead, who was still offline, and the human girl curled up on his chest plate. Miko's hazel eyes were closed, but it was clear she was not sleeping, just trying to shut out the pain and anger which welled in her chest.

" _We cannot focus on seeking revenge,"_

It echoed through her mind like a slap in the face. Of course _Optimus Prime_ would suggest she keep her cool and pretend like the Insecticon who scrapped Bulkhead didn't need to be dealt with. Even Agent Fowler seemed to agree, which frustrated her the most. If she had been hurt, Bulkhead would not have hesitated to show her attacker who was boss, and she wouldn't either.

Rescuing Jack was also on her list of to-do's, as was showing Buckethead that humans should not be messed with. She would make sure he would never think about taking her friends again.

 _Hers_ was the face he would never forget.

_Never._


	4. Defy Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron gives Ratchet a taste of what he is capable of, forcing Jack to watch and making the human's uselessness painfully obvious.

**DEFY ME**

****⬵⤁** **

**WARNING: Physical Torture**

****⬵⤁** **

**_"The sky is switching with the ground,_ **   
**_my world is turning upside-down."_ **

****⬵⤁** **

Jack tried to ignore the growling of his stomach, silently ridiculing his body. Lunchtime was ages ago, cringe-worthy gurgles filling the silence of the cell. If Ratchet was bothered by them he made no mention, the Cybertronian running through a hundred scenarios in his helm and wondering what he would do in each one. Fighting seemed like a good option, but he would easily be overpowered; and Jack could be squished.

He hated the idea of asking Jack to attempt an escape - knowing full well that Soundwave could easily sniff him out - however it might be their only hope. If the human could find a way to contact the Autobots, then they could triangulate coordinates and Groundbridge them out. Again, it hinged on the fact that Soundwave was an idiot, something _far_ from the truth.

When the doors finally open Jack surged to his feet, clenching his fists and waiting for Megatron to start throwing punches. Ratchet shifted and rolled to his pedes as well, albeit with a little less dexterity than the younger human.

Dreadwing stepped into the room, energon cuffs in his servos. His expression was relaxed, almost regretful, though his optics were naturally narrowed by his sleek ridges above them, making him look permanently angry. Ratchet glared at him, nothing being said between them for some time before he let out an ex-vent. While he was not as cruel as his master or fellow Decepticons, Dreadwing also was not one to be trifled with. He was passive because the medic would comply; otherwise Ratchet would cause himself unnecessary suffering.

Jack's heart hammered in his chest as Ratchet presented his wrists to the second in command without protest, flinching as they _clicked_ into place with a sense of finality. It seemed their time to sit around was up.

Ratchet just stared straight ahead as Dreadwing moved and pulled the chains from above downward, cringing with each _clank_ and jolt of the metal while he was clipped into place. Jack moved to stand closer but the medic made a noise of warning, telling him with his optics to move back. Taking several steps back the human attempted to calm the chills which swept up his arms when Dreadwing looked at him. The Decepticon said nothing, instead making his way to the side of the room and turning on the LED screen on the all, his sharp digit pressing a button.

"Ah!" Ratchet yowled as his arms were suddenly jerked from his sides and twisted almost painfully, his old joints protesting as they held him in the air. Dreadwing only brought him up high enough to keep his pedes from scraping the ground, ignoring his cry of pain.

"Ratchet!" Jack shouted his name, watching the medic grit his denta and squeeze his optics shut.

"Don't," he seethed, "come any closer. Stay in the corner, Jack. Don't move, make a sound, and _don't_ make yourself obvious."

Dreadwing ignored the organic as it squawked and protested, testing each chain to ensure none had weak links or would otherwise inhibit lord Megatron's work. He was indifferent to the Autobot's pain, as he found no satisfaction in it nor enjoyed the aspect of torture; but it was an unfortunate necessity. The significance of the organic was lost to him, however Dreadwing would not test Megatron's patience. It was already humiliating to admit defeat to _Starscream_. The last thing he wanted was to look like an idiot.

Jack felt helpless to do anything, doing as Ratchet instructed with a growing sense of anger in his heart. He was frustrated that he could do nothing to stop what was to come, or help Ratchet endure the pain he would suffer. He kicked himself - the stupid drive had not been worth it. More than likely the Decepticons had all of the relics, and Megatron was going to test them all on the Autobot medic.

It took only a few minutes after Dreadwing _pinged_ to his lord that the prisoner was ready before Megatron arrived. Ratchet bit his glossa on the comment of the warlord having clearly polished up not more than a few Earth hours ago, likely in preparation for this moment. His armor shone brightly, reflecting off of the lights in an almost dazzling display. Megatron did not _preen_ by any means, yet he had most certainly cleaned up in order to instill as much fear and intimidation as possible into his enemies.

Ratchet was hardly intimidated.

 _"Comfortable, doctor?"_ Megatron rasped to his guest, his shark denta glimmering in the dim light of the cell. When all he received was a look he laughed, the sound grating against Jack's eardrums like sandpaper. _"Excellent. Then we may begin."_

Jack nearly felt insulted by the exclusion, but decided it was for the better that Megatron did not deign to give him any attention by speaking in English. And he supposed it would be easier all around if he did not understand what was going to happen - though the prospect did not make him feel any more at ease.

"Why don't we skip the formalities," Ratchet snapped, once again remaining in the human dialect. "You know I will not give anything up - no information, no services, no _energon,_ for your cause. I will not betray my faction."

"But you _will_ , with time," the confidence in Megatron's words sent chills down Jack's spine. "Even if it means I have to rip out _your_ voice box in order to obtain what I desire."

 _What?_ Jack stared at the warlord. _Why does it sound like . . . he's done it before?_

Ratchet hissed and spat something in Cybertronian, only making the sterling titan laugh cruelly as he circled his prey.

_"I will break you, dearest Ratchet. And I will make him watch."_

Jack flinched as the first blow was dealt across Ratchet's face, beads of energon budding along the hairline cracks on his faceplate. Stunningly Ratchet did not make a single sound, instead shuttering his optics and taking a deep ventilation to cool his systems as his fans kicked into overdrive.

The first blow, Megatron believed, was the most important. It established who was in charge; and something as demeaning as a slap to the face was one of the better ways to start. His claws were built to inflict as much pain as possible, as satisfactorily demonstrated by the growing energon droplets on the medic's face.

"If that is all you've got," Ratchet spat at him. "Then I can do this all day."

The look on Megatron's face was enough to tell Jack that Ratchet had said _exactly_ what he wanted him to.

Jack flinched as the warlord's claws scrapped against Ratchet's armor, the resulting _screech_ threatening to destroy his eardrums. Against his initial will the human covered his sensitive ears, Megatron's muffled laughter vibrating against his hands.

Ratchet cringed and grunted in pain, venting heavily and looking down at his chest. Deep claw marks marred his thick armor, energon that matched his optics beginning to drip down his front. He shuddered, servos clenching into tight fists as he tried to resist making noise. The last thing he wanted was to give Megatron any sort of satisfaction. The resulting ventilation seemed to light his energon veins on fire where the open wounds were, his denta grounding against one another. Frag, it _hurt._

The punch came next, hard and unrelenting, right into the middle of the smooth armor around his abdomen. A gasp glitched in his vocalizers when the air in his vents was forcefully exuded, pain radiating across the damaged protoform and forcing his body to tense up. He sucked in a long ventilation, refusing to look at Jack to check on his condition or see what the human was doing. He did not want him to interpret it as a cry for help, or a sign of weakness for Megatron to exploit. If the Decepticon _truly_ wanted Ratchet revealing everything he would have skipped straight to Jack; but he was relishing this small victory.

"I doubt you have had enough," Megatron sneered. "Unless you wish to say otherwise?"

"Get . . . fragged," Ratchet grimaced, glaring up at him.

Megatron took the defiance in stride, chuckling in twisted amusement. Jack watched him as he continued to make circles around the Autobot, continuously reminding him of a shark, the apex predator of the sea. His optics trailed across Ratchet's armor as he considered his next move carefully, Dreadwing silently watching from the darkness.

Ratchet's shoulder plating was attacked the third time, this time from behind, Megatron burying his digits into the seams and ripping it off in one clean motion. The unexpected savagery finally ripped a scream of agony from Ratchet's throat, Jack's stomach rolling as sensitive wires were exposed to the air and the delicate energon lines which led to the armor and kept it alive were severed, causing an immediate outpouring of the life-giving substance. Jack finally closed his eyes and looked away as the second one was ripped off as well, leaving Ratchet's already strained shoulder joints vulnerable.

Megatron dropped the pieces to the ground with an unceremonious _crash,_ the cruel glint of his optics reflecting the increasing energon loss. He circled back around and assessed his prisoner, noting with satisfaction that Ratchet now hung his helm low, and his vents were shuddering with pain. Reaching out, the delicate points of his digits traveled along a particular wire.

"Nnngh . . ." Ratchet groaned, his frame shuddering as the touch sent fire racing up his sensors, the wires never meant to meet the outside environment. When Megatron had ripped off his armor he had also taken the protoform with it, the delicate organ shredded in places where it had sealed against the armor.

"That will be enough, for now," Megatron decided, taking his servo away from the medic. "As I am sure you would like to take some time to reconsider your refusal."

It was then that his optics finally settled on Jack. The human had long turned his gaze away, the silence forcing him to look back. Predictably, he froze in headlights when he realized the warlord was watching him, the pair locking gazes for longer than what should have been necessary. Then, like someone that had discovered a bug but then decided it was not worth their time, Megatron looked away.

 _"Knock Out will arrive shortly to assess the damage,"_ Megatron told the Autobot. _"Do not expect any energon, or food for your organic pet."_

Ratchet said nothing to that, taking deep ventilations as pain flooded his systems and shock slowly settled in. Megatron only glanced at Dreadwing and gave the smallest of nods before he left, leaving his second in command to lower the Autobot to the ground.

Dreadwing did so with a very unceremonious _crash,_ Ratchet barely having the energy to grunt in protest. At the very least his shoulder joints were no longer aching, but it gave way to the fresh waves of sensitivity scurrying across his wires.

"Ratchet!" Jack finally broke his silent spell and darted over to the medic, Dreadwing ignoring him as he too exited the prison. "Talk to me."

"Stay . . . back," the medic rasped. "Energon . . . could poison you."

Jack hesitated as the radioactive substance began to pool, creating a stark contrast against the medic. It was unnerving to see a part of him _ripped off_ and exposed; without his shoulder pads Ratchet looked rather small and frail. The sight - and prospect of it - was disturbing.

He wanted to scream and hit something. Why was he so _helpless?_

 _"Knock, knock,"_ Knock Out drawled as he sauntered into the room, a medical kit in his servos. _"The doctor is in the house."_

Ratchet glanced up with wavering optics to shoot the Decepticon a glare. When he moved to sit up the searing pain shot across his shoulder connectors proved too much and induced collapse, the medic once again falling to the ground with a grunt. Jack wisely scampered out of the way as Knock Out approached and set his medical kit down.

 _"It seems we will most likely be seeing a lot of one another,"_ Knock Out grinned maliciously. _"I wonder how long your old model will hold up?"_

He was not given the benefit of a verbal answer, the scarlet medic shrugging his shoulders and beginning to work. Due to his vanity and overall lack of common sense, Knock Out was not given much credit for his work like his Autobot counterpart. Yet as he focused on mending Ratchet his incredible optic for detail and ability to work delicately shined through, his skilled servos just as good as any other mech of his status. Ratchet watched him suspiciously, but he did have to admit that Knock Out knew what he was doing.

The procedure, consequently, was mostly painless, the Decepticon's red optics dancing across each wire as he sealed it back into place, covering them with synthetic protoform until Ratchet's nanites could build their own. He did not hum while he worked and pulled various tools from his medical kit, allowing an awkward silence to fall. Jack watched, unable to help his curiosity but wise enough to keep his mouth shut. The last thing Ratchet needed was an annoyed Knock Out treating him.

 _"Unfortunately, replacing your armor would require much more time and effort on my part,"_ Knock Out waved a dismissive servo as he began putting his tools away. _"However, considering those pieces were attached to your protoform, I am almost certain they will grow back. It might take another hundred or so Earth years, but they will grow."_

 _"I suppose it was too much to assume you had any surgical skills,"_ Ratchet seethed back in return, finally able to help himself into an upright position without collapsing.

Knock Out glowered at him. _"Watch it, medic, or I might not do such a great job next time."_

The Autobot wanted to quip that the job was horrible to begin with, but that would have been a lie. Despite the lack of standard medical equipment in the room Knock Out did an impressive job. It was a pity, really, that he did not have any brains in his sleek helm.

With a huff Knock Out strode back out of the room, Ratchet leaning against the wall again next to his discarded shoulder pads. He rested his helm back and closed his optics, wondering what other parts the sadist would begin to rip off next.

"Hey . . . you okay?"

He glanced down at Jack, a little startled. He had nearly forgotten about him.

"I will be fine," he said dismissively, not letting on to the fact that now his energon reserves were significantly reduced. Healing was going to take time, and that would only further burn his fuel. He glanced down at his aching chest to see that his nanites had already stopped the leaking, yet Knock Out had not even touched the claw marks. Oh well, it was superficial regardless.

Jack nodded, unconvinced, grimacing when his stomach growled again. He had not even noticed its protests during the intense interrogation - which _maybe_ only lasted thirty minutes, max. Now, it only served to remind him that he had yet to eat.

Ratchet returned his gaze to the young man when the noise reached his audio receptors, his faceplates shifting into a frown.

"When was the last time you refueled?"

The question looked like it physically pained Jack to think about, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to put a timestamp on it, however he had no real idea of when they had boarded the _Nemesis,_ drained it of dark energon, and then was captured.

"I dunno . . . I ate before I got to base," he said sheepishly, wishing he could lie and say it was a little later, but Ratchet had been there the entire time. He would have caught on to the deception.

The medic swore softly in Cybertronian. "Over twelve hours, then. If my internal chronometer is to be trusted."

Considering Cybertronians were literal beings made of living metal, with highly-advanced technology and evolutionary adaptations, Jack did not doubt his accuracy. _Twelve hours. And I probably slept for six or seven of them._

Soon the days would begin to blur together, and without a surefire way to know when it was morning or night, it was only a matter of time before Jack's sleep-cycle flew off the rails. He heard a rumor that blind humans could adapt to 48-hour days, or developed a sleeping disorder, because they were unable to see light and stabilize their circadian rhythms. He wondered if the same would happen to him.

There were several unforseen problems that were starting to arise, and Megatron would certainly figure it out and use them to his advantage. The delicacy of his humanness would be their ultimate downfall. He _had_ to keep himself strong.

"Perhaps I can exchange some information for human resources," Ratchet mused, immediately pulling him from his reverie.

"No!" Jack shot to his feet, unable to help but shout. "No, Ratchet, don't do that. I'll be fine, I can go without food for weeks -"

"And water for _three_ days," the medic interrupted. "And it has already been approximately one day since you . . . boarded the _Nemesis._ A day without fluids will begin to take its toll if you are not careful."

His raven hair swished and bobbed as Jack shook his head vigorously. "Giving him something to bargain with will only seal our fates."

Ratchet gave Jack a hard, almost glare-like expression. "Your survival is my prerogative," he stated, no room for argument. "I will not allow you to suffer as I have, Jack. This is not your war."

"Megatron thinks it is."

As much as he hated to admit it, Ratchet knew the human was right. The Decepticon tyrant would not see the three fleshlings - five, including Agent Fowler and Nurse Darby - as noncombatants, _especially_ the children. He would find a twisted delusion to convince himself that they were soldiers just like the rest of them, made of flesh and blood instead of armor and energon.

"Regardless, Jack, I am not going to allow any harm to befall you. Be it from starvation or Megatron's schemes." The medic was firm and his words were final, leaving no room for argument. Jack wanted to protest, yet it was futile.

_We have sealed our fates._


	5. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack discovers Ratchet and Jack have been captured by the Decepticons, Megatron receives a call demanding their return. A deal is struck, and Ratchet loses.

**FIGHT ME**

**_"My sense of judgement seems to be compromised,  
You're too strong to be denied."_ **

**⬵⤁**

Wheeljack was _livid._

He had seen Decepticons - and Autobots - at their worst in this eons-long war. Enough so that he knew not to trust anyone except his Wrecker's team. But when he heard about how a dirty Decepticon tried to scrap Bulkhead while his back was turned . . . that was a bar so low he did not think Megatron knew it existed. What made the whole thing unbelievable as well was Optimus Prime's refusal to tell him _who_ did it.

_"We should not focus on revenge, but instead Bulkhead's recovery."_

"Yeah, you do that," he muttered to himself as he prepared his vessel for takeoff. "As if Bulkhead wouldn't do the same for any of you."

He had no idea where to start, but giving Megatron a holler would be a good one. A plan was already forming in his processor, a way he could force the dictator to cooperate and give him the 'con he wanted. Sure, he could easily try to trick Wheeljack, however they both knew he was no idiot. Brash and impulsive, perhaps, but this was a mech who could wire his own explosives - needed a CPU in there to even _begin_ to do that successfully.

Closing up his ship and initiating takeoff, the fuming Wrecker glided smoothly through the rock formations of the foreign organic planet and headed into the upper atmosphere, cloaking his signature. Almost as an afterthought he plugged in the coordinates of the base and set the autopilot, something in his gut telling him it was for the best. Once the ship confirmed the setting he then just activated the program, wanting to sit and think without needing to constantly steady the Jackhammer and watch out for human pilots.

His sensitive audio receptors picked up the noise of what sounded like loud footsteps, his optics narrowing. He doubted one of the Autobots had stowed away on the ship, and he really did not want another double incident . . .

Activating his cannon he whirled, quickly pointing it at about chest-height of a Cybertronian. Instead he was met with the tiny stature of Bulkhead's organic charge, Miko. Her small, hazel eyes were glistening with unshed tears, hands curled into tight fists.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He asked, powering down his cannon. He was both relieved it was not a 'con but concerned that she had somehow managed to sneak aboard.

Her answer was unwavering, and confident. "I'm going to find the 'con who hurt Bulkhead. You in?"

"I'm taking you back," he immediately turned in his chair, grabbing the controls. If Prime or Bulk realizes she's missing, I'm going to have my tailpipe kicked by both of them. How did she get on board anyways?

"No, wait!" Miko ran up to him, clambering onto the chair of the copilot. Her fierce eyes did not waver one bit, determination coursing through her veins. "I want to help."

"Listen, when I find the 'con who tried to scrap our boy, I'll take care of him, my way." Wheeljack gestured to the grenade on his hip to show her his point. She glanced at it, but to his dismay was undeterred.

"It's not just about Bulkhead," her fists clenched again as anger burned in her heart. Anger and worry. "Ratchet and Jack were captured by the 'Cons."

Wheeljack paused. This was news to him. "What?"

"You didn't notice that the only doctor in the base was missing?" Miko asked him, completely dumbfounded. When the Wrecker only gave her a confused expression, she took a frustrated breath and continued. "Long story short, the docbot and Jack got cornered on the warship and were taken prisoner when they sent us the coordinates for those relics. Y'know, the one you lost to Soundwave?"

"I didn't need that reminder," Wheeljack huffed. But he did recall noticing Ratchet's absence, however he just assumed the maestro was grabbing another cube of energon to keep Bulkhead at full fuel levels. It never occurred to him that it was because he was missing.

_Why didn't Optimus say anything?_

"And, I know who did it," Miko watched him with glittering eyes. "I know who tried to scrap Bulkhead."

He gazed at her for a long time, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. She had no real reason to lie, and the ferocity of her voice only solidified the fact that she was confident, and truthful. "Who?"

"Take me with you, help me get Jack and Ratchet back, and I'll tell you."

**⬵⤁**

It seemed that the universe never wanted Megatron to have a day of rest.

_"Just look at what they've done!"_ Knock Out flailed in front of him, screeching about the Insecticons which stood behind him. A fight between the Insecticon and Vehicon troops had caught Soundwave's attention, and judging from how Knock Out reacted, one would have thought a bot had died. Alas, it was not that, but rather the abrasion - a generous description, really - on the CMO's chest plates from where a stray Vehicon had slammed into his frame.

Megatron resisted the urge to roll his optics at the mech and send him back to his medical bay. _"Spare me the dramatics, Knock Out. It is but a scratch."_

Knock Out was not stupid enough to complain about his lord calling it "just" a scratch, wisely changing tactics. _"That is not what I was referring to, my liege. These . . . beasts are causing dissent amongst the ranks. We should have them confined, restrained even!"_

_"You cannot produce anything that is strong enough to restrain an Insecticon warrior,"_ Hardshell hissed at the Decepticon, his mandibles clicking in agitation. Megatron was considering the best way to bash their helms together when a Vehicon at one of the monitors - someone _actually_ important - interrupted the exchange.

_"My liege, we are receiving an emergency transmission from mine TBC-15."_ He announced.

Megatron tilted his helm. _"What seems to be the problem?"_

_"Unclear, my liege. The caller will speak only to you."_

This was certainly unusual. The tyrant made his way across the bridge to reach the terminal, pausing for a moment to assess what he was reading on the screen before pressing the button.

_"What is it?"_

Miko had heard the Decepticon warlord speak before, but that was when it was in English, her second language. The dialect which rolled off his glossa sent straight chills down her spine, the clicks and inhuman whines of Cybertronian painful against her ears. She saw Wheeljack glance at her, then return his gaze to the screen which indicated he was still in contact with the Nemesis.

"This is a pretty nice operation you got here Megatron," Wheeljack drawled, remaining in a language his temporary charge could understand. "Although technically, you might say it's under new management."

Soundwave took a snippet of the conversation and searched his records for a match, almost immediately displaying for Megatron the caller's identification and body specifications on the console.

"Wheeljack," Megatron read the designation. "The one who enjoys the explosive devices."

_::Indeed. And I'm sitting on top of one of your big, juicy mining ops.::_ He did not have to spell it out for the Decepticon leader. The mine was lost, and he had the means to either blow it, or any potential invaders, up.

"The loss of one asset is hardly a blow to the Decepticon cause." The unfazed tyrant waited for something interesting to develop, already bored with the conversation.

_::Maybe. But I won't stop at one. I'm going to keep hittin' 'em until you give me what I want.::_ The Wrecker growled, not here to play games.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Megatron showed his razor denta ever so slightly. He did not think the Wrecker and medibot were close enough to warrant a rescue -

_::The Insecticon scum that tried to frag Bulkhead.::_

Megatron was well versed in the words and sentences which passed through his processor; as the lord of the Decepticons, he was adept at picking apart each byte of information which passed in from his audioreceptors within nanokliks. And Wheeljack's statement was no different.

_"Tried?_ " He asked in disbelief. "Are you saying the Autobot _lives_?" The snarl which left his vocalizer was directed full-force toward the Insecticon in question, Hardshell cowering ever so slightly.

"He is bluffing!"

_::Wouldn't bet on it. And you're slagging lucky he made it, even without the Doc's help.::_ Wheeljack continued. _::Which is another thing I think needs to be addressed. Ratchet, and Jack.::_

Megatron was already becoming increasingly angry that they had not actually scored a major victory against the Autobots. _I will have to change that when the medic's usefulness runs out._

_::Give 'em to us, or I'll keep hitting every mine until you either die of starvation or do what I want.::_

"The medic and his insect are prisoners of war, ones that will not be given up so easily." Megatron snarled. "All I must do is reinforce my mines, Wheeljack, and you will eventually be captured or offlined. You will have to bargain with something much more useful than your limited supply of grenades."

The Wrecker clenched his fist.

_::Surely you can't be stupid enough to let me hit every mine I can. Because I will. And you'll have no idea when I'm coming, or where I'll go next. Give them up, Megatron.::_

His persistance, though commendable, was starting to become annoying. Megatron thought for some time, weighing his options. The medic was a strong, automatic no, and he was reluctant to give up the human. It was a weak point he fully intended to exploit later. However . . .

Perhaps _later_ could become _now_.

"Then we must compromise," he gave the screen a dark stare. "The human, and Hardshell, in exchange for our mine's immunity. That is my only offer, Wheeljack. It would be most wise to take it."

Miko looked at Wheeljack, tears in her eyes. He _couldn't_ refuse, he _wouldn't_.

He glared at the screen, clenching his servo. The Wrecker took several things into consideration, mostly: would Ratchet accept such a proposal? Many 'bots would say that they would authorize a trade that saved their comrades and left them behind, but the reality was different. He knew several mechs that became bitter about being left behind . . . truthfully, he was no different.

But the humans were innocent of this war and its crimes. Their involvement was an accident; Team Prime proved that by putting "robots in disguise" above all other guidelines, not wanting to involve Earth or its inhabitants in combat. Ratchet knew this, and Wheeljack would bet the Jackhammer that if he knew of this trade, he would approve it. For Jack, Miko, and Rafael.

_::Fine. Hardshell and Jack. I'll transmit the coordinates of my next target. And if they're not there when I arrive . . .::_

"Rest assured, Wheeljack," Megatron grinned savagely. "They will be."

_::Oh, and Megatron? In case you were wondering what five tons of exploding energon sounds like . . .::_

The resulting explosive noise was nearly deafening, though Megatron suspected the Wrecker had turned up the sensitivity of his transmitting microphone to catch the sound. Regardless, it was a horrid noise, one that wiped the grin off of his face. Hardshell had a spark to get.

And he had a human to bargain with.

**⬵⤁**

Ratchet was relieved when his nanites finally stopped the bleeding of the injury to his chestplates, but worried when his tanks read even lower than normal. Typically he was able to function with half of his reserves and energon use dialed to the lowest setting, yet now he was cut down to three-eighths. At this rate, it would only take a little longer before he was either forced into stasis, or Megatron managed to tease some kind of information out of him.

Jack was curled up on the floor next to him, minimizing his movements and even trying to sleep. Ratchet assumed this was survival instinct leading him to lowering his metabolism. The teen shot to his feet almost immediately, however, when the door to their cell opened.

Megatron stepped through, his red optics scanning the area while two Vehicon soldiers guarded the entrance. Unease settled within Ratchet's core; it was unlike the warlord to arrive so soon after an initial interrogation session. His spark nearly stopped when the sickening red optics settled on Jack, realization crossing his processor.

"Leave him _alone!"_ The medic got up and charged, Megatron already anticipating this and grabbing the Autobot's fist. His other servo shot out and gripped his neck cables, hoisting him into the air. A brief choked noise gurgled from Ratchet's throat, then he was tossed aside carelessly. He crashed into the opposite wall with a groan, his already drying energon veins struggling to send much-needed resources to his extremities.

Jack scrambled back as silver claws reached for him, shouting in terror when he jumped between them and barely missed being snagged. A part of him said _mistake_ , because enraging the warlord would only increase his pain, yet the primal instinct to avoid capture persisted. Megatron's hiss told him that he indeed did the wrong thing. The human screamed when a shadow descended upon him at impossible speeds for its size, sharp digits closing around him in a cage.

"Do not make this any more difficult for yourself," Megatron growled, giving him a light squeeze for good riddance. Jack keened as painful pressure was applied to his entire body, threatening to crush his ribs. His body was left aching when the tyrant finally relaxed, Ratchet struggling up to his pedes with fire in his optics.

"What are you doing with him?" He barked. "Let him go, Megatron!"

"I have found that the organic will be much useful elsewhere," was the reply, Jack gazing at the medic with terrified eyes. Helpless to try and fight, Ratchet resorted to begging.

"You don't have the means to keep him alive, Megatron," he said, very much speaking the truth. "Humans are _fragile_ , and it is frighteningly difficult to put one back into homeostasis after taking them out. I will tell you something, anything, if you would just let him go . . ."

"Ratchet, no!" Jack squirmed and reached through the small space between Megatron's digits. "Don't!"

The warlord merely gave Ratchet a cold expression. "I have no interest in what you have to say to me at this time, medic." He gnashed his denta. "My only concern is this human and its usefulness. Of which you are not a part of."

_"No!"_ In a desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable Ratchet lunged forward, reaching for the servo which held his temporary charge. Jack cried out as the claws curled tighter around him, barely slipping his arm out just in time to avoid getting it crushed. Megatron pulled his prize closer to his chest and sent out a pede, kicking the Autobot square in the chest and sending him smashing into the wall again. With a painful clash of metal Ratchet crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain and rasping for Megatron to stop, to let Jack go.

Ignoring his pleas Megatron glanced down to ensure he had not accidentally crushed the human, satisfied when he saw a pair of terrified eyes staring back at him. Jack whirled from the tyrant's gaze to find Ratchet, watching the medic struggle back to his pedes for the second time. The servo which held him jostled ever so slightly as Megatron began taking steps back, his optics never leaving Ratchet. Desperation colored the Autobot's face when the sterling titan crossed the threshold.

"Jack!"

"Ratchet!" The human extended his arm out as if to grab the orange servo which reached for him, the door closing between them with a cold _snap_.


	6. Remain With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Megatron watch Wheeljack attempt to fulfill his end of the bargain, however the Lord of the Decepticons finds a loophole.

**REMAIN WITH ME**

**⬵⤁**

**"Oh, I'm brainwashed, captivated by the fame,**   
**Oh it's taking over me now**   
**Mighty baby, untamed lover,"**

**⬵⤁**

Sunlight assaulted his eyes.

Jack was unsure _where_ he thought they were going, yet he was surprised when hot air flooded the pocket space around his prison and the bright rays of the sun reflected off of Megatron's sleek plating nearly blinding him. Shielding his eyes with a sleeve he looked down, blinking a couple of times to try and acclimate to the new environment. He realized just how dark and cold the _Nemesis_ was in comparison to Earth, his hands already starting to sweat excessively due to the increasing heat of his prison.

Megatron had provided no information regarding where they were going, or what he planned to do with the human, merely communicating to his inferiors in the Cybertronian dialect whilst ignoring his protests. The presence of an Insecticon only solidified his anxiety; from what Arcee had told him, they were tough bugs to squash. If _Megatron_ was bringing one with him, it meant business.

"What are we doing here?" The human asked for what was probably the millionth time, yelping when claws tightened around his fragile body.

"Silence," Megatron hissed to him, his attention pulled to the Insecticon when it chittered and gargled at him. The Decepticon responded in kind - with the Cybertronian equivalent, of course - the warlord giving detailed and explicit instructions based on the length of the conversation.

Shortly after the whine of a ship filled Jack's eardrums, the engine almost _painfully_ loud. He looked around in confusion, expecting to see the _Nemesis_ ; but the noise was, ironically, too quiet for a ship of that size. Additionally, he did not see the point of leaving the _Nemesis_ via Groundbridge if it was just going to fly over their heads.

Struggling to see around Megatron's claws, he saw a decent-sized Cybertronian vessel disappear under the canyon lip, having never seen it person but knowing who it was immediately.

"Wheeljack?" He said the name out loud, almost in a whisper. What was he doing _here?_

"Hmm. The Wrecker is early," Megatron mused in English before barking something to the Insecticon, which cowered briefly before lumbering over to the edge of the canyon side.

The Wrecker slowly unsheathed his katanas as Hardshell presented himself, his optics narrowed as a small growl escaped his vocalizer.

"Where is Jack? He's a part of the deal," he snarled remaining in the English language. Jack assumed that was for his benefit, though the explicit mention of his name and the word _deal_ made him incredibly uneasy.

"Relax, Wrecker," the energon in the addressed Cybertronian's veins turned sludgy and cold when Megatron spoke from the place Hardshell had appeared, his servo enclosed on a small object. "The human has not been harmed. Should you defeat Hardshell, we can further negotiate his release - after all, without anything to keep the medic in line, I am reluctant to let him go."

Jack repressed the urge to call him out on the bold-faced lie. Megatron was more than capable of laying the hurt on Ratchet; he just preferred to manipulate his victims for his own sick satisfaction. The light intensified when Megatron unfurled his claws and allowed Wheeljack to see the truth.

"Jack!" Miko screamed his name from inside of the _Jackhammer,_ barely able to make out the small human in the grasp of the tyrant. She had seen Megatron before, and at a much closer distance than this, but it never fully occurred to her just how _large_ he was until she saw Jack in the palm of his hand. How he managed to not crush her friend was a miracle at best.

Wheeljack narrowed his optics, the grip on his katanas tightening. He should have better anticipated the _lord of Decepticons_ to try and worm his way out of a deal. No matter; he'd deal with Hardshell first and then show him a piece of his mind.

"Deal?" Jack looked up at Megatron, shielding his eyes from the sun. "What deal? What is he talking about?"

"Your life, and that of Hardshell's, for the preservation of my energon mines," Megatron focused on Wheeljack and Hardshell as they began battling it out. "Truthfully, I am less concerned with the pest of a Wrecker than my Insecticon's incompetence. I was promised that the spark of an Autobot had been extinguished, but that proved to not be the case."

The thought of an Autobot dying seemed to squeeze the breath out of Jack's lungs. If Megatron had been _promised_ , and then it was false, that meant one of them had come close. The teen was no detective, but judging by the context - _Wheeljack_ \- Bulkhead had been hurt. He closed his eyes; he hoped Miko was holding up okay.

An even darker realization crept up from the back of his mind. Ratchet had not been there to help, to stabilize Bulkhead and provide any other medical necessities. He was sure one of the other Autobots were capable of saving their friend's life, but it was like him and his mom. Sure, he knew second-hand knowledge from her because she's a nurse, but that did not make him a _qualified_ nurse by any means.

"It seems he brought the vermin pet along as well." Megatron mused, pulling Jack violently from his reverie. He was shocked that Megatron could see as far as he did, and with the glare of the _Jackhammer_ 's windshield it was amazing he could see anything at all.

"Miko?" Jack could not really say he was surprised. _Of course_ she would be in the middle of all this.

He was only spared a glance when Megatron felt him shifting on his palm, but the human was not inhibited as he crawled toward the edge to try and get a better view, flinching when Wheeljack was dealt a massive blow to the stomach. The shockwave shifted rocks and debris around, Jack able to just barely see movement within the glass. Miko was hitting her fists against it, screaming at Wheeljack to get back up.

The Insecticon threw the Wrecker aside like a cat toy, letting him land on the rough desert ground before stalking closer. He was hissing and spattering something that made Jack's skin crawl.

"Such a pity," Megatron spoke again, curling his claws in and eliciting a yelp from Jack as they trapped him against his palm again. "The Autobots have certainly grown weaker over time on this wretched planet."

Jack's retort was interrupted by the whine of an engine, both him and his captor's surprised gazes whipping up to see the _Jackhammer_ whirring to life without a pilot. Or so it seemed.

Hardshell was too perplexed by the odd phenomenon to move out of the way when two missiles fired at him. The Insecticon screamed, but that was quickly cut off as the weapons made contact and exploded against his chassis, sending debris flying every which direction. Megatron's optics were wide with shock, gazing at the scene with only one solid explanation in his processor.

"Yes! Go Miko!" Jack could not help but cheer, however his celebration was interrupted by Megatron's grip tightening around his body. The pressure elicited a cry of pain, Jack pressing his hands against the talons in an attempt to alleviate some of the aggressiveness.

Wheeljack picked himself up from where he had been tossed to the ground, holding his injured arm when the wires and joints protested. He looked up to see Megatron clutching Jack, a murderous look in his optics. This had not gone according to plan.

"Hand him over!" The Wrecker snarled.

The dictator glanced down at Jack, then resettled his gaze on the Wrecker.

"I think not," he sneered. "It was agreed that _you_ would defeat Hardshell, and not the human. Therefore, the terms were not met."

Wheeljack howled something in Cybertronian, but he was not given the benefit of a response as a Groundbridge opened up next to Megatron, and the entire Insecticon horde came barreling out. They planned to seek revenge for the death of their comrade, Megatron not protesting their wishes whilst Soundwave released them through the portal.

"No!" Jack struggled and wheezed against Megatron's metal grip, his pleas falling on deaf receptors. The tyrant turned on his heel once a portion of the hive had been released, walking towards the Groundbridge portal. "Let me go! They had a _deal!"_

"A part of which they did not uphold," it was too much to ask for him to play fair. "Therefore, you remain as _mine."_

Jack heard the _Jackhammer_ as it took off from its landed position, the sound of its weapons warming up their only warning that Megatron was going to be fired upon. But they entered the portal just before the hits could make their mark, the beams of energon landing harmlessly in the place they had once been.

Goosebumps prickled along his arms when the cool, dry air of the _Nemesis_ washed the warmth away like an ice bath. It took everything in his willpower to stop the chattering of his teeth, not wanting Megatron to know of the discomfort. As angry as he was at the Decepticon, he found some solace in knowing that he would be returned to Ratchet unharmed.

"It appears I have underestimated the willpower of the human race," every time Megatron spoke aloud it seemed that a corpse was caressing his sides, making him shiver and an unsettling feeling growing in his gut. The feeling was further amplified when a claw brushed his raven hair, sending a burst of electric panic through him. "Perhaps you are of more use to me than I anticipated."

He did not like that idea.

Megatron stopped in front of a door and pressed a central button, the door not opening for a long pause before eventually folding away. Much like its residents the ship seemed to have a borderline transformation sequence, which he assumed was because Cybertronian technology was very dependent on this characteristic. They transformed individual body parts as well as themselves.

Where Jack was expecting to meet a dimly lit room with a defeated medic leaning against one of the walls, instead they were met with darkness.

"What-" he jumped a little as the door closed and they seemed to be encased in the blackness completely, another brief pausing ensuing before a few lights faded on. The room itself was sparse, like a cell, but it had furniture; at least, the Cybertronian equivalent of it. Jack recognized a desk without a chair, along with a screen which displayed information regarding all sorts of information. The most chilling of all, however, was a simple table-like structure that was nestled against a corner. Megatron's paranoia and gladiator days were obvious in the placement of his berth: two sides protected, and his optics facing the doorway.

The warlord said nothing as he strode across the room and dumped Jack onto the desk, the human scrambling to his feet and looking around, trying to find a way he could jump down without killing himself. The desk cleared Megatron's hips and settled just below the jagged tips of his chest plates, the perfect height for someone who did not want to sit. Unfortunately, that left Jack anywhere from fifteen to twenty feet off the ground, perhaps even more than that.

"What am I doing here? Where is Ratchet?" Jack demanded, earning an annoyed look from the warlord.

"I would have thought it obvious, human," he bared his shark denta, "that you are in my private quarters. "Ratchet remains in his cell, where he belongs. But it is not quite time to reunite you, yet."

His pointed digits moved with terrifying precision across the keyboard in front of him, typing in a few commands with ease. Jack wondered how exactly that worked; he assumed it was like a touch screen, but what was it reading? Pressure? Rafael was able to stomp on the buttons to get them to work, yet Megatron's digits barely fluttered over them. Or so Jack assumed; for all he knew, that same pressure could gut and kill him, and Megatron was only making it _seem_ gentle.

"Why?" Jack felt like an annoying six-year-old, but he was tired of the way Megatron was acting, dodging questions. It was frustrating enough to be kept out of the loop when they spoke Cybertronian, but for Megatron to just blatantly ignore him and toy with him was like multiple slaps to the face. It was getting old.

"Use your feeble mind," came the snarl, Jack resisting the urge to curl into a ball when blood-red optics focused on him. "Surely there is some hypothesis you could incur as to _why_ I have chosen to bring you to my private quarters."

It took all of his willpower to not snap back something rude or immature to the tyrant, knowing his patience was at an all-time low and he was not the type for any sort of sarcasm. So he became quiet, and thought.

Separating the two of them initially seemed counterintuitive, as torturing one in front of the other would likely produce results. But . . . Jack had seen plenty of cop shows where they separated the suspects, then used the "your buddy is spilling everything right now, and he's throwing you under the bus" tactic to coerce one of them to talk. Surely Ratchet was not foolish enough to believe that.

All the same, though, Megatron could tell him anything he wanted. He could share gory details of Jack's torture without even touching the human, planting seeds of doubt in the medic's mind and eventually getting him to confess something. The vice versa would also be true, but Jack was almost _positive_ that what he would be told was actually happening. He saw firsthand what Megatron was capable of, and far worse could be inflicted if the warlord desired. Though what troubled him the most was the incident with Wheeljack and Miko.

Clearly, Megatron had not anticipated this and come up with a plan beforehand. He was watching to see where the chips would fall and placing his bets accordingly; what was most terrifying about that was the precision and accuracy of those bets. He hardly ever lost a gamble, even when making split-second decisions and constructing a plan based on a _prisoner_ exchange. When he thought about it, the Cybertronians were walking computers; their processing power had to be _extreme_ to compensate for the sentient thinking. He tried not to let the mind-explosion show on his face.

"He won't break under isolated interrogation," the human said haughtily, finding a sliver to stupid courage. "And he won't believe any lies you tell him about what you're doing to me."

Megatron looked at Jack, as if he could not believe the human's audacity. His expression then twisted into a sick smile.

"What makes you think, human," he rumbled, "that I will be _lying?"_


	7. Beg Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron returns his attention to Ratchet, sending his Autobot friends a reminder that the agony has only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical and Psychological Torture

**BEG ME**

**⬵⤁**

_**”Oh, I’m brainwashed,** _

_**Double-O who, seven digits,** _

_**Connect me to, your Sweet Center,”** _

**⬵⤁**

Ratchet looked up as the door opened again and Megatron stalked through. It was only mildly shocking that the tyrant had not asked him to be restrained, but they both knew better. The medic was too weak to resist, his low energon readings occasionally flashing across his optics. He gave himself one last torture session and an Earth day before his reserves ran dry and he was forced into stasis lock. By then, Jack would be suffering too; likely from dehydration more so than starvation.

“Where is Jack?” He rasped when his optics fell on empty servos, his expression twisting into an angry grimace. “What have you _done_ with him?”

_“The human is being dealt with a little more . . ._ privately _, given his fragile state.”_ Megatron growled back, his vocalizer warbling and clicking out the syllables. Ratchet struggled to stand as anger fueled his energon lines. 

_“You better not have touched him!”_ He snarled. _“He is just a human, Megatron! A non-combatant. He doesn’t know war.”_

_“An interesting argument, given that they have proven to be_ quite _involved,”_ Megatron pointed out coldly, _“as for their ignorance to war . . . surely you are not so naive to their history, Ratchet. Despite being a young race, they are perhaps more savage than we have ever been.”_

He received a withering glare, noticing with satisfaction how Ratchet required to lean against the wall in order to come close to standing at his full height. Starving the medic was going faster than anticipated, and the current scramble for relics made time a commodity the Decepticons could barely afford.

_“They are children, Megatron. Surely that will sway you to leave them alone.”_

“You _are the ones which brought_ children _into war, Autobot. Considering they have insisted on remaining involved in your little excursions, which I can only assume you encourage, there is no one but yourself to blame for their misfortune.”_

The accusatory “Autobot” made his protoform flinch. Megatron _was_ right in that aspect. Initially, Optimus insisted the humans remain out of the fight and away from any potential combat; Ratchet blamed Miko outright for breaking that rule. But when the human factor was needed, each child stepped up to the plate to help their friends. It morphed from them sneaking onto the battlefield to the Autobots _actively transporting_ them to the sites, but it was always with a warning: don’t get caught, and don’t get squished. He thought they did an adequate job of warning the children to steer clear of the Decepticons as much as possible.

And here he was, sitting in a _Nemesis_ holding cell, Jack somewhere else aboard this ship.

_“Megatron, please,”_ he hated resorting to begging. _“Do whatever you wish to_ me, _make_ me _suffer your wrath. Just leave Jack out of this.”_

There was a pause as Megatron seemed to seriously consider Ratchet’s offer, but it proved to merely be another mind game when the warlord refocused his deadly gaze on the medic.

_“You will suffer regardless, Ratchet. As will he, in time. But for now, I am leaving him in isolation. Humans are such social creatures; perhaps with time I can simply_ tease _what I want from him, just to give him someone to confide in and talk to.”_ He strode over to the weakened medic, not at all concerned about potential attacks. _“What do you think will break first? His will, or his mind?”_

_“You son of a -”_ Ratchet’s profanity was cut off by the shrieking of metal colliding with metal, hard claws wrapping around the soft mesh of his neck and hoisting him in the air. It elicited a pathetic keen, his shoulders protesting horribly as his digits scrabbled for a handhold, trying to minimize the strain on his neck from holding up his body. Another gasp and grunt of pain escaped him when his back was slammed against the wall, his spinal strut feeling as if it had crunched under the sheer force of the motion. 

_“We will start out simple, medic,”_ Megatron hissed in his audio receptor. _“Give of me what I demand, and I will see to it that your shoulders are repaired, and your human is left undamaged. Despite my nature, I can be_ quite _reasonable.”_

Ratchet’s optics focused on him, sheer hatred burning bright within them. _“And what is it . . .”_ he rasped, his intake not fully crushed yet, but the energon veins had been adequately cut off and leaving him straining to vocalize. _“That you could possibly want of me, besides the location of the base?”_

A sickening grin stretched Megatron’s scars and revealed his sharp denta. _“Clearly, you will not give it to me outright. So I will make you wish you had told me, and saved yourself from this suffering.”_

The sound of the door opening tore Ratchet’s gaze away from the warlord, confusion knitting his optic ridges together. Soundwave quietly stalked into the cell room, his servos carrying an array of tools, some surgical in nature while others were purely for torture purposes. At first, Ratchet briefly wondered why Soundwave was present, and not Dreadwing or Knock Out, but it then occurred to him that this was not just for _his_ benefit.

_“Are you prepared to document audio?”_ Megatron questioned his third in command. Receiving a silent nod, the tyrant returned his full attention to the medic before him. _“Then we will begin.”_

Ratchet was dropped with an unceremonious _crash_ to the ground, Megatron slamming a pede on his abdominal plating to keep him in place. The medic groaned in pain, watching Megatron sift through the collection of tools with bleary optics. Taking his time, Megatron eventually picked up a simple drill, not unlike the ones Knock Out had in his personal medical system. 

_“It is amusing, to think that I once considered becoming a medic,”_ he focused his gaze on Ratchet. _“But I would have never been very good at it. No patience.”_

_“Yeah, and I thought about becoming a genocidal despot. Funny how things turn out,”_ Ratchet snarled sarcastically, grunting again as the pede released its pressure. Panic rose in his chest when he noticed Megatron was not holding the drill correctly; his digit was not resting over the button, but rather the handle’s end -

He screamed without even meaning to, Megatron thrusting the drill into his left chest plate, away from the spark but in a position that could do a lot of damage. The spiral bit tore through him like butter, ripping wires and crumpling metal without damaging itself. The medic managed to get a handle on his screaming and pain, Megatron gripping his servo when it reached for a position just behind the medic’s helm.

_“Don’t even think about it,”_ he growled at him, crushing grip preventing the medic from manually turning off his pain receptors. _“You are going to feel every bit of this, and you_ will _scream.”_

Then he turned on the drill, grinning as energon came pouring in droves from the wound. Ratchet’s vocalizer nearly glitched from the intensity of his cry of pain, the drill increasing the size of the wound and the damage it caused exponentially. As such, Megatron did not leave it on for long, eventually pulling it free and resting the energon-drenched tool back on Soundwave’s tray. He watched with satisfaction as the medic shook, his optics dimming and brightening in erratic fluctuations. 

Ratchet placed a trembling servo on the wound in a weak attempt to stem the energon flow, the bright blue liquid streaming past his digits. Megatron only watched him briefly before selecting another tool: the classic energon prod.

He turned it on, ensuring Ratchet was aware that he had turned up the charge to its full capacity. Normally, such a thing was reserved for stronger prisoners, with more bulk and muscle cables to counteract the frying of their energon reserves. If Ratchet was lucky, it would only scramble his processor for a brief period of time and not do any permanent damage. Well, no. If he was lucky, it would bring him a swift offlinement.

_“I will allow Knock Out to fully mend your frame should you obey my command,”_ Megatron stroked the prod with the points of his digits, lightly caressing the weapon as if it was a beloved pet. _“And the pest will be spared. Tell me, Ratchet, who you desire to come save you. Who would you contact first for rescue? Scream their name.”_

Ratchet’s faceplates snapped up to glare at him. It became very apparent to him that this was just a twisted game. Megatron was not truly interested in information, not yet; he wanted to make the medic, and those he cared about, suffer. It brought him more pleasure to receive information through dubious consent than outright prying it from his victims. And Ratchet was no fool; the Decepticon knew _exactly_ who Ratchet would chose. He just wanted the satisfaction of hearing him say it out loud.

_“I will not participate in your abhorrent fantasies, Megatron,”_ he spat. The resistance earned him a jab with the energon prod, Ratchet barely able to yowl as his entire body lit up, small nuclear explosions cascading from the point of contact to his digits and pedes, racing across his processor and threatening to cause a force shut-down. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain faded, leaving a foreign metallic twang on his glossa. His vision returned in swirls and white little dots, barely able to stay upright from the resulting dizziness.

_“Say it, Ratchet. Say his name, or I will not only continue to torture you, but the human will be next,”_ It was not a threat, but a promise.

Ratchet grit his denta, trying to swallow his pride. This pain he would rather endure for a lifetime than ever give Megatron what he wanted, but he could not do it with Jack’s wellbeing on the line. He silently cursed the warlord, feeling his entire body tremble as the name slipped from his glossa, small and pathetic.

_“O-Optimus . . .”_

_“Louder.”_

_“Optimus!”_ He screamed as the energon prod slammed against his injured shoulder, sending another wave of agony across his frame. When he cried out Optimus’ designation left his vocalizer again, falling forward and collapsing when the pain had passed. His vents were labored, the electricity warming his metal and forcing his fans to work overtime to cool them. His digits curled against the metal floor, his optics shuttering as a part of his resolve seemed to break.

_“Beg for him, medic. Beg for his rescue.”_

_“N-no,”_ this time the energon prod hit his spinal cable, the direct contact causing the worst spasms he ever encountered, leaving his processor barely functional, save for the urge to survive, and concede. _“Optimus, help me! Please, please, save me from this. Optimus, please!”_

He could barely hear himself scream, only hoping that the words he was thinking were leaving his glossa. At one point, he might have even called for Orion Pax, but any knowledge of such a thing was promptly deleted before he could grasp it. Again and again Megatron coerced him into calling for his friend, forcing him to plead and beseech the Prime’s salvation. It seemed there would be no stopping until, finally, the warlord had his fill and Ratchet was left curled in a ball on the floor. His exposed shoulders shook pathetically, energon leaking from his mouth, the delicate energon lines having burst from the repeated abuse.

_“Such a pity he cannot hear you,”_ Megatron sneered. _“Nevertheless, my promise to you remains. Knock Out will attend to you shortly, and the human will be spared.”_

Ratchet closed his optics. He did not care; he just wanted to be left alone. When Megatron’s voice started to warble and warp out of focus the medic let it happen, allowing stasis to shut down his body.

**⬵⤁**

Optimus Prime stood at the computers, his digits resting against the keyboard. In his peripheral vision Miko paced melancholically in the human’s play area, Rafael staring mindlessly on his computer. The base was silent, Arcee and Bumblebee keeping constant watch on Bulkhead as he remained in stasis, Agent Fowler also watching the Wrecker. From their readings the team deduced that Bulkhead had suffered incredible neurological damage to his spinal strut, which could leave him permanently crippled. It was still too early to say for sure, however, and without their medic’s expertise they were prone to false prognoses.

The lack of Ratchet’s presence frustrated him, but he kept his feelings in check. Having been his closest friend, the Prime was better versed in medicine than any of the other team members, but this was something even his steady servos could not hope to mend. They needed Ratchet, the miracle worker.

The medic was too humble to accept such a title, but Optimus had seen his fair share of Ratchet’s work, and he knew it to be true. Where many medics failed or gave up, Ratchet was there to pick up the slack. He was a valuable member to the team, more than anyone had ever given him credit for. Losing him had dealt a significant blow, and there was no doubt in Optimus’ mind that Megatron was well aware of that.

A _beep_ drew his attention back to reality, a message popping up on the screen. The noise jerked everyone else to attention, Arcee turning from her position at Bulkhead’s side.

“What is it?” She asked, speaking in English for the benefit of their liaison and the children.

“It is a message . . . sent from Megatron,” Optimus felt dread fill his spark.

“Think he finally decided to wise up and call in a ransom?” Agent Fowler asked, approaching the Prime.

Miko stood at rigid attention where she stopped her pacing, her small hands curling into fists. “Buckethead better be calling to say that he’s sorry and is going to return Jack!” She shouted to no one in particular. “Because a deal’s a _deal!”_

No one bothered to try and tell her that this behavior was normal for Megatron, and the chances of him handing Jack over for nothing in return was nonexistent. Optimus instead carefully opened the message, which had nothing but an audio recording attached to it. Their computer did a brief scan and came back with a clean bill of health, which assured the Prime as they opened it.

There was silence at first, the the foreign static and whines of Cybertronian filled the base. Miko put her hands over her ears, grimacing.

“What _is_ that?” She asked. The question was rhetorical, as she had heard the language before, but something about this particular line of dialogue was . . . excruciatingly cruel.

“It’s Cybertronian,” Arcee narrowed her optics. “ And it’s Megatron speaking in the Decepticon dialect.”

_“-coming a medic. But I would have never been very good at it. No patience.”_

Optimus furrowed his optic ridges. Megatron was not speaking to them directly, not in this message, it sounded like . . .

Even Miko and Agent Fowler, who could not understand a word of Cybertronian, recognized Ratchet’s voice when he spoke. There was no mistaking his Iaconian accent, which transferred even to English, as he snapped back at the warlord. Silence permeated, as if Megatron was thinking of a comeback, but then a terrible, horrifying sound pierced through the speakers, making every hearing person in the room flinch.

_“No.”_ Arcee voiced aloud their thoughts.

Agent Fowler had never heard Ratchet scream before. Sure, there was the occasional, terrified yell, or even a cry of rage or frustration, but never anything like _this._ It was gut-wrenching, a sound of complete and utter agony that echoed through the base. Ratchet was in physical, horrific pain, the sound of what Fowler suspected to be a drill intertwining with his whines.

Finally, the noises stopped, Ratchet’s labored breathing the only audible thing for a while. Megatron growled something out to the medic, his voice deep and intimidating even to those that did not understand. When the quiet persisted again Optimus thought the recording was done; but it was only beginning.

Even Arcee cringed and looked away when the screams started again, her digits curling into fists and digging into the seams of her palm, bruising wires and threatening to cut them open.

**“Turn in off, please,”** Bumblebee begged. **“I can’t take it anymore.”**

In a rare bit of selfishness Optimus did not do as he asked, listening to his friend’s torment and feeling his spark twist within his chassis. The energon within his tank rolled and boiled in anger, yet he kept himself in check. He wanted to know if there was a point to this audio, besides the obvious.

_“I will allow Knock Out to fully mend your frame should you obey my command.”_

His optics visibly brightened and narrowed when Megatron spoke again, his wires coiled tightly in tension. The terms of the warlord’s conditions sent a jolt of pain through him, as if Megatron’s sword had materialized out of the screen and stabbed him. What he asked of Ratchet was degrading, useless, and yet when the medic refused he punished him with another bought of torture.

_“Say his name.”_

Optimus felt his servos tighten their grip on the monitors, apprehension freezing his joints in place. He implored Ratchet to be strong, to not give Megatron the satisfaction he craved. Giving in to his captor’s wishes only gave him more power and control.

_“O-Optimus . . .”_

_“Louder.”_

_“Optimus!”_

More screams, more agony, but this time it tore directly into the Prime’s spark, collapsing it within his chest and threatening to destroy him. Arcee and Bumblebee stood, frozen, as Ratchet begged, _pleaded,_ for Optimus to save him.

_“Orion . . . please . . . help.”_

His keen snapped something within the bearer of the Matrix, and without thinking Optimus slammed his fist onto the keyboard, terminating the audio recording and venting his frustration. The entire base was filled with uncomfortable, tense silence, interrupted only by Miko.

“Raf!”

The youngest human had collapsed onto the floor, curled in a ball and shaking uncontrollably as he sobbed. It occurred to his guardian too late that the boy could understand Cybertronian, and had heard every single word. Miko wrapped her arms around the traumatized boy, the both of them shaken up. Ratchet was strong, and tough to crack for a ‘bot. If _Megatron_ had him screaming and begging for mercy . . .

Arcee’s wings flared. Though they never heard him utter a sound, Jack must have seen the entire thing. And Ratchet, her caregiver and friend, to be put through some of the worst agony anyone had experienced in a _millenia,_ made her spark pulse angrily within its casing. Megatron was a _monster_.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Miko tried to calm Rafael, who was close to having a massive panic attack. His skin was just as pale as it had been when he had been infected with Dark Energon, cold and clammy as well. Miko silently begged him to not pass out.

Optimus shuttered his optics, trying to reign in control. When he found himself failing and rage clouding his judgement he pushed himself away from the console and stalked toward the base entrance, transforming and driving off without so much as an indication of where he was going. He needed time to brood.

Arcee felt the need to do so as well, but she kept herself on a tighter leash. Ratchet and Optimus had been friends long before the war ever started; he, more than anyone, deserved to be upset about this.

“Let’s get you to the couch, kid,” Agent Fowler helped Miko pick Rafael up, moving him to somewhere more comfortable. As they moved Rafael could not help but make a pitiful sound of anguish, his despair felt throughout the base.

The two-wheeler looked toward the paused audio file again, its message more than clear.

They were running out of time.


	8. Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron does not know how to cater to human guests, and Jack pays for it.

**FORGIVE ME**

**XXX**

_**"Baby, baby, take me with** _ **you,"**

**XXX**

Jack was dying.

He could feel it in his mouth, where his tongue stuck to the roof longer than it normally did. He felt it in his throat, which ached every time he managed to swallow down a bit of thick, disgusting saliva. His bruises were now a nasty purple, the healing process slow and nonexistent as the hours stretched into days. Megatron came and went without so much as a second glance in his direction, leaving him bored and with nothing to do but sleep and stare out the window and into the black abyss. The _Nemesis_ was in orbit around the Earth, Megatron's window facing the expanse of space. Jack would have been more interested if there was not a persistent ache between his eyes.

Eventually he gave up moving at all and just slept, trying to conserve his energy and make himself last for at least another day. But if he had to guess, it had been at least two days since the capture. Within the next five to six hours, his body could potentially shut down. The headache would go away, and that would be a relief, but that would also mean he was _dead._

Approaching Megatron about the subject seemed impossible. If anything, it would only give him a sharper edge against his prisoner and use it to Ratchet's disadvantage. Jack would not allow that to happen.

Not to mention the Decepticon had yet to make good on his threat, which Jack essentially imagined as him beating him until he could no longer move. Though the neglect was far more desirable than the tyrant's unwanted attentions, this was _miserable_.

So, he slept.

And slept.

And slept.

**XXX**

Light assaulted his vision and jabbed straight from his pupils and into the core of his brain, his eyes snapping shut again as he cried out in pain. A headache pulsed across the membrane of his brain, the taste of metal in his mouth making him want to puke. Opening his eyes again, slowly, he raised an arm up and blocked the incoming light. Looking around, his sluggish mind took a long time to process that he was no longer on the _Nemesis._

_Where . . . am I?_

Blinking several times his eyes eventually adjusted, the pounding in his head matching his heartbeat and making it nearly impossible to think straight. After a long thought process in which he realized he was somewhere completely foreign, it occurred to him quite frighteningly that he was in a hospital.

"Um, hello?" Jack called, his heart stalling in his chest and panic flooding his extremities. "Anyone here? Hello?"

A blonde nurse poked her head into the room, her bright blue eyes giving him a quick once-over She smiled a little, though it was thin, indicating that something was not entirely right.

"Ah, I see you are awake," her heavy accent betrayed the fact he was no longer anywhere near the states, only adding to his panicked state.

"Wh-where am I? How did I get here?" Those were good places to start. "I'm not in the States, am I?"

" _Nej,_ you are in Switzerland," she confirmed for him. "Zurich, to be very specific. Do you know _who_ you are?"

"Uh . . ." Jack paused, a little baffled by the question. Her raised eyebrow prompted him to think faster. "Jack. My name is Jack Darby."

She wrote that down on the chart, tsking a little. "And you are clearly American. Do you remember arriving at the hospital, or anything before then?"

He paused, trying to recollect and figure out a lie. Obviously he remembered being captured by the Decepticons, but telling _her_ that would result in him being placed in an asylum. His thought process was certainly fuzzier as he became more and more dehydrated, and he honestly could not remember most of it after he decided to just keep sleeping.

A headache still insisted to remain between his eyes, but his throat was no longer hoarse and everything seemed . . . clearer.

"I . . . um," he rubbed his eyes. "I kinda remember. I was, uh, with friends. You said I arrived at the hospital. How? With who?"

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "I am assuming your friends," her thick accent only made the disapproving tone sound more intense. "Based on your report you were dropped off at the ER entrance, though your 'friends' did not stick around. You were severely dehydrated and almost slipped into a coma."

Ice gripped his body and held it in place, his fingers growing cold.

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days," the nurse looked up at him. "Based on the state you arrived in, I would almost suspect you were unconscious for five days."

_Five days. Plus two . . . that's a whole week._

_What has happened to Ratchet? Where are the Decepticons?_

"When can I leave?" He asked.

He received another surprised expression. "Whenever you are ready," she said, watching him warily. "However you will need to complete paperwork; as you are not a citizen of Switzerland your financial situation is different."

 _I doubt the Decepticons have insurance,_ Jack thought to himself, forcing a smile as he thought about what he was going to do. "Okay . . . thank you."

"Is there anything else you need?" She asked, eyeing him in a manner that told him it would be best if he did not ask for too much. The teen paused, a little surprised he was not absolute _starving,_ but decided he did not need the food. No need to feel more guilty than he already did.

"I'm good," he lied. He let loose a breath when the nurse turned around and left, glancing out the window. Another wing of the hospital stared back at him, his gut twisting when he realized that meant he was likely a few stories up. The thought of calling for help briefly entered his mind, but he had no reason to think Soundwave was not monitoring the entire hospital, keeping tabs on him. If anything, the spymaster had likely planted his own monitoring devices within the room or hospital. So, that was out of the question.

The first obstacle was sneaking _out_ of the hospital. He had to do it before filing some kind of paperwork, because for some reason _that_ felt more illegal than just leaving. It made him question what Megatron's plan was for this whole thing. Surely he would know the moment Jack woke up, but then how long did he anticipate he would stay? More importantly, _why_ was Jack in this hospital? The 'cons were not stupid, but they certainly were not well versed in human culture. How did Megatron know he was dying, and react appropriately?

He shook his head. _Worry about that later. For now, hospital issues._

The bizarre situation made him pause. Why _was_ he concerned about going back to the 'cons?

_Ratchet._

Megatron had forced them to become a pair, and as such the ideology of sticking together remained. Jack also was not one to abandon his friends, even in dire circumstances like this.

So, he needed to find a way to get back to Ratchet.

A part of him wondered if Megatron would even take him back now that he knew the maintenance requirements for a human being. He decided that the warlord would rather just drop him off at various hospitals every other day than release or kill a valuable asset, so that answered that. It seemed inconvenient or a waste of time, but surely they would not think so far as to actually get food and water from a store.

Maybe.

Glancing toward the door Jack shifted and sat up a little more, glancing at the IV in his arm. As soon as he ripped it out alarms would bring the nurses to his room, and even if he bolted they surely had security.

_Come on, think._

He looked over at the bedside table, and noticed his clothes were stacked neatly on them, a baggie of his personal items on top. In the baggie was his fire-starter kit and a pack of gum. His cellphone was back at the Autobot base.

He gazed at the items, a plan forming in his head.

It was crazy, but maybe it would work.

**XXX**

"We got a hit."

Agent Fowler strode out of the elevator with a stack of papers tucked in a manila folder. His announcement drew the Autobots from Bulkhead's progress, the Wrecker managing to sit up and even walk just a little, but he relied very heavily on outside support. Optimus Prime was briefly confused, remaining quiet as he waited for Fowler to continue.

"Approximately two hours ago a Jack Darby was put on file at the Zurich hospital in Switzerland," Fowler skimmed his notes. "What is interesting is not just the fact this happened, but Darby was actually _admitted_ about four days ago, suffering from massive dehydration and malnutrition. He is reported to have black hair, blue eyes, and is of Caucasian descent. The file also updated his nationality, United States."

"How are you sure it's _our_ Jack?" Arcee asked, suspicious and reluctant to hope. "What is he doing in Switzerland?"

"It's the best match we've got so far, and the timeline makes sense," Agent Fowler pointed out. "If the 'con's took Jack about seven days ago, and he was admitted three-ish days into that, he would be suffering from dehydration. Likely Megatron doesn't know what a human needs. I'm sending a consulate from the US embassy in Zurich to check in for us, considering Jack and the kids _are_ considered interns of the US government and this is, in a sense, a hostage/missing persons situation."

"Why put Jack in a hospital?" Bulkhead asked, the partially immobilized Autobot sitting on the ground to rest. "Won't that raise suspicion, or maybe he'd escape?"

"It stands to reason that Megatron is holding some kind of threat over Jack, if this indeed him," Optimus rumbled, his brow furrowing in troubled contemplation. "But it is troubling to see that Jack has been placed in medical care so soon. And after listening to Megatron's . . . message . . ."

"We need to get him out of there," Arcee turned her gaze to Agent Fowler. "Once it's confirmed that Jack is in Zurich, I'm going in."

"Arcee, the Decepticons -"

"Are _killing_ our friends!" She whirled on Optimus jabbing a digit in his direction. "Jack almost _died_ within three days, and clearly Ratchet isn't in any better shape! Optimus, if we don't do something, they may not be as lucky the next time around. I'm getting Jack out of there, regardless. It's what Ratchet would want."

"I'm going too," Miko crossed her arms stubbornly. Bulkhead said her name in protest, but the girl persisted. "Jack is _my_ friend, and he's in a _hospital._ You're going to need some human on human interference if you want this to work. What are you gonna do, _tell_ the Swiss-US embassy that there are giant alien robots waiting for him the moment he exits?"

"The Decepticons will be there, guaranteed," Arcee shot her a look. "This isn't some kind of field trip, Miko."

"I don't _care_ about the 'cons, I _care_ about Jack!" Miko shouted at her, her hands curling into fists. "He's my _friend,_ and I'm gonna make sure he's safe, and keep them from hurting him again!"

The Autobots stared at her, Arcee recalling her time in the subway tunnels with the girl. She _had_ managed to help save the day by doing some "human interference," but that was also due to her winging-it. She didn't plan like Jack did, which was why her revenge stunt with Wheeljack - where she had _seen_ Jack and Megatron - had left her feeling even worse than before.

The idea filled Arcee with rage. Jack had been _alive_ then, and clearly well. Within a week, he was stuck in a hospital on the other side of the world.

"You guys figure this out, I need to make a phone call," Agent Fowler announced into the increasingly awkward silence, quietly walking away. Miko waited for the verdict, already knowing that no matter what, she was going.

"While I do not believe it wise," Optimus said slowly. "Miko does have a valid argument. However, if you insist on meeting your charge, it would be best if I provided back-up. Bumblebee, are you capable of manning the Groundbridge?"

The scout nodded with a whirr, Rafael pushing up his glasses.

"I can help," he said confidently.

Bulkhead gripped the side of his cot. "I'm comin' too," he grunted, struggling to his pedes.

"Bulkhead, I cannot allow you to enter the field just yet," Optimus told him. "You are not yet capable of smooth transformation, nor standing for long periods of time. While I understand your desire to help bring Ratchet and Jack home, it would be more detrimental for you to join us."

The Wrecker growled. "Boss, I'm _fine."_

"As your leader I must order you to stand down, Bulkhead, until you have gathered your strength," Optimus replied, his voice taking on a stern undertone. "The moment you are ready is the moment you will be allowed onto the field."

Though Bulkhead grumbled he did so under his breath, huffing and sitting back down. He would never admit it out loud, but it hurt immensely to stand, and he was grateful to sit whenever possible.

A few minutes later Agent Fowler came back, flipping his cellphone down and tucking it into his pocket.

"I hope you've got everything sorted out and your bags packed, because the consulate is heading to the hospital right now to confirm. As soon as he lays eyes on our boy, we're going in."

**XXX**

When the man entered the room Jack almost stupidly asked if he was a Decepticon. He wore a crisp suit and slicked back, black hair, his eyes a pale and almost sinister blue. When he smiled the only thing Jack received was chills.

"Jack Darby?" The man asked.

Immediately the teen zeroed in on the American flag pinned to his lapel, able to at least assume one thing: he was a part of the American government; the embassy here on Swiss soil. He frowned. What was he doing _here?_ Surely a mysterious American did not warrant that much suspicion.

"That's me . . ." he said reluctantly.

He nodded. "Michael Collins," he extended a hand, "American consulate here in Zurich, Switzerland. I was contacted by an Agent Fowler to confirm your identity for him. Tell me, Jack, where are you from?"

 _Agent Fowler? They found me?_ He paused, dumbfounded. _How?_

"Um . . ." stopping himself again, he thought quickly. What would happen if he said the correct answer? Certainly the Autobots would rescue him, but . . . did he _want_ to be rescued?

"Jack!"

" _Miko?"_

The Japanese girl bounded over, bypassing the surprised consulate and wrapping her friend in a tight hug. Tears burst from her eyes and she started to sob.

"You're okay. I'm so glad you're okay." She said through her tears, clutching him tight. When she pulled away her hazel eyes were glittering angrily. "How much did he hurt you? I'm gonna make him pay for-"

The teen sat up with a grunt. "Miko, you shouldn't be here," he insisted. "Are the Autobots here too?"

"Yeah, even _Optimus_ came as back-up," she replied, her face twisted into an expression of confusion. "What do you mean I shouldn't be here? We're going to get you out of here."

"And risk Ratchet getting hurt even more than he probably already is?" Jack told her, not caring as the consulate raised an eyebrow at the pair. "I can't leave with you, Miko. Or Optimus."

"Not even Arcee?"

The accusatory tone made him flinch, his fingers curling up in the sheet. As much as he wanted to be reunited with his partner, his friends, his _mom,_ he felt that he could not. There was another who needed him more; Jack wanted to believe Ratchet would not abandon him.

"Jack," Michael Collins spoke smoothly. "Agent Fowler informed me that you were dealing with terrorists. Going back to them due to any threat they are giving you will only allow them to gain more power. You are a noncombatant, and it is against our duties as members of the American government to hand you over to them again."

The teen opened his mouth to make a nasty retort, but stopped himself just in time. Instead, he glanced at the US pin, the flag bent in an illusion of blowing freely in the wind. He was most likely his best way out of this hospital . . . more than his partially psychotic plan to set some gum on fire, and Megatron would do whatever he needed to retrieve him. Closing his mouth slowly, he hung his head in defeat.

"Okay, okay," he sighed, looking up. "Are we going now?"

"You bet we are!" Miko cheered, seeming to have convinced him.

It took almost an hour for the consulate to convince the hospital to release Jack, jumping through several hoops before the nurse came in and took out his IV and a few other tubes he had stuck in him. During that time, Miko filled him in on what happened.

When she got to Bulkhead, and Hardshell, Jack's stomach twisted. The Autobots were taking hits they should not have now that Ratchet was gone, and he knew it would kill the medic to know what was happening. Optimus had performed what surgery he could, which shocked Jack that he knew much at all about medicine; it made sense, though, that the Prime knew a little something given his friendship with Ratchet. Still, the look on Miko's face when she updated him on Bulkhead's condition . . .

Anger warmed his chest. Megatron was taking his sweet time trying to torment Ratchet and essentially use him just as punching bag while also attempting to kill his friends off one by one. Four days had gone by, and Jack was sure more psychological trauma had been dealt.

The anger fueled him as he limped out of the hospital with Miko, his whole body sore but he was just happy to be alive. A motorcycle waited patiently at the curbside, Arcee twisting her wheel a little bit.

"Hey, partner," she sounded relieved.

"Hey," Jack forced a smile, a voice in the back of his head screaming as he touched her handlebars. Bolting from them would only cause suspicion - and possibly put him on lockdown in the Autobot base - but he had no other plan on how to escape the Autobots. The idea cut through him like a knife.

 _Escape the Autobots. What is_ wrong _with me?_

"Climb on," Arcee invited, an undertone of excitement in her disembodied voice. "Miko's got your helmet."

Indeed, the younger girl gave it to him, her own tucked under her arm. Optimus was at a distance, nestled inconspicuously across the street from the hospital, but Jack felt as though the Prime was watching him very closely, perhaps even analyzing him critically. It sent chills down his spine when it should have been comforting.

Slipping his helmet on he sat and adjusted himself comfortably on her saddle. Miko gladly hopped on behind him, hugging him tighter than normal and silently telling him just how happy she was to see him. But he could not shake the growing dread in his stomach, as if something terrible was about to happen.

"We have to get out of the city if we want to Groundbridge out undetected," Arcee described. "The embassy thinks you're flying out with Miko. Agent Fowler managed to convince them not to ask any questions."

"How long will that take?" Jack asked nervously.

"Half an hour at most, depending on traffic," Arcee assured him. "Zurich has plenty of countryside."

He nodded, gripping her handles a little tighter. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Ratchet, the Decepticons, and the intense feeling of guilt and traitorism in his gut.

For once he was thankful for the dark tint on the visor of his helmet, just so they could not see the twisted, painful expression on his face.

_I'm sorry, Ratchet._

**XXX**

" _My liege . . . he's_ getting away."

" _That he is, Knock Out,"_ Megatron watched the scene from Laserbeak's point of view displayed on Soundwave's visor. " _Do not fret, this is all part of the plan. The game has merely begun."_


End file.
